Snakes and Ladders
by dammitharad
Summary: "She allowed herself to think of the future, something she didn't often do; she allowed herself to indulge in daydreams." Two lives are drawn together during a struggle for happiness. Modern AU, ÉponinexCombeferre.
1. A Crappy Little Life

"So we struggle and we stagger

Down the snakes and up the ladder

To the tower where the blessed hours chime

And I swear it happened just like this

A sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss

The gates of love they budged an inch

I can't say much has happened since…"

_- Closing Time by Leonard Cohen _

**_Chapter One  
_****A Crappy Little Life**

Éponine Thenardier was just pouring milk onto her cereal when she heard the knock at the door. Confusion settled over her as she put the milk carton down, a little dribble of milk making its way down the side. She wiped her fingers on her trousers and crossed the room to the door.

She looked through the peephole on the door, wondering who on earth could be visiting at this time in the morning. It was eight o'clock, and her shift in the supermarket was going to start in forty-five minutes. Plus, she hadn't really had visitors in a few weeks, not since…

She saw her closest friend Musichetta staring up at the ceiling when she looked through the peephole. Her friend's face was distorted by the fisheye lens, but she knew it was her.

Sighing, Éponine slid back the bolts on the door and removed the security chain before finally opening the door. "It's early and I have to be at work soon," she grumbled, rather than saying hello.

"I know, but it's either this or I can come and pester you at work," Musichetta said cheerfully, stepping into the apartment. She jangled her car keys at Éponine. "I can give you a lift over."

"You don't have to," Éponine said. "I don't mind walking, it's just down the road." She shut the door and put the security chain back in place, before returning to the countertop where her cereal sat, getting softer by the second.

"I'm taking you to work," Musichetta said, flopping down onto the sofa and watching as Éponine fished in one of her drawers for a soon. "Because we need to talk."

Éponine looked up, slamming the drawer shut. "About what?" she said, keeping her voice light, even though she knew exactly what Musichetta wanted to talk to her about.

"Don't play stupid," Musichetta said, crossing her legs. She fluffed her light brown hair with one hand and jangled the keys again. "You haven't left your apartment except to go to work in nearly a month and it needs to stop."

"There's no need for me to leave," Éponine muttered, spooning cereal into her mouth. Yes, it had gone mushy already, she noticed with an internal wince. She dropped down onto the sofa next to her friend and put her feet up on the coffee table. "I work in the supermarket, so I can get my food from there. It's not like I _have _a social life."

Musichetta smacked her on the calf. Éponine's leg licked out on instinct and knocked a stack of DVDs onto the floor. She shot her friend a reproachful look and shovelled more cereal into her mouth.

"You _do_ have a social life!" Musichetta pointed at Éponine with one of her keys. "And I won't hear otherwise. You know, the boys are really missing you down at the café –"

"I doubt it," Éponine said, stirring her milk.

"Why do you doubt it? You've barely spoken to them since you split up with Marius," Musichetta shot back.

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me about that," Éponine muttered, putting down her bowl and spoon with a clatter onto the coffee table.

"Oh, like you'd forgotten," her friend scoffed. "You, my dear, like to mope and wallow and complain about things so I know it's all you've been thinking about. Which is why I'm here."

Éponine drew her knees up to her chest. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Tough." Musichetta gestured, the keys fisted in her hand rattling. "Your world does not begin and end with Marius, Éponine. You need to get out of this stuffy apartment and carry on with your life. He has."

"I _know_ he has!" Éponine glared at her friend. "I don't need reminding that he dumped me for Cosette fucking Fauchelevent!"

"She's a nice girl," Musichetta said, with a shrug. "There are worse people he could have left you for. _But_, that's besides the point. The point is you've retreated into your shell and…" She sat up in her seat, straining her neck to see the pile of DVDs that had fallen onto the floor. "You've been watching shitty romcoms, not tidying up and, knowing you, probably chain smoking. You need to get out of this apartment and see your friends."

"What friends?" Éponine wrinkled her nose. "Apart from _you_, I don't have any."

"You have the boys," Musichetta disagreed.

"They're Marius' friends," Éponine said. She had tried, after Marius had ended their relationship, to carry on seeing them at the Café Musain that they liked to frequent, but it hadn't worked out. She'd felt awkward considering Marius was always there, and wasn't it a bit weird to keep on seeing your ex-boyfriend's friends?

"Oh, 'Ponine." Musichetta reached out and put her hand over Éponine's. "That's not true. The boys really like you. They do. They miss you, I can tell. Every day they ask me where you are and whether you're in today. And can I just point out, they're angry at Marius for the way he treated you so don't go thinking they're on his side."

"That's…It's not that I think that," Éponine said slowly. "It's more…Like I said, they're his friends and sometimes that made me feel uncomfortable. Plus Marius was _always _there."

"He's not there so much now," Musichetta said.

Éponine didn't respond, but rested her cheek on her knees.

"He's actually been going there less and less," Musichetta continued. "And he's away tonight, actually, so he _definitely _won't be there and Cosette's never gone to the Musain without him, so…"

Musichetta gave her friend a little grin and did a little dance with her shoulders. Éponine wasn't really sure what that was supposed to indicate, so she just carried on staring at her.

"Éponine." Musichetta prodded her. "Will you come tonight? To the Musain?"

"What happens if I say _no_?" Éponine asked.

"You can say no if you like," Musichetta said slowly. "But I'd just knock you out and drag you there anyway, and I don't really fancy doing time for assault, so it'd be easier on both of us if you just met up with us all."

"How about I'll think about it?" Éponine suggested.

Musichetta pouted, but then grinned. "That's good enough for me," she said. "Because I've translated it as _I'm definitely coming out tonight, Musichetta_."

"It's not a definitely at all," Éponine objected.

"Now, are you going to eat the rest of that cereal?" Musichetta avoided catching Éponine's eye, and instead glanced at the watch on her wrist. "Because if we leave it any later than this before we leave you might be late for work."

"It's all gone mushy," Éponine said. "Just let me get my jacket…"

OOO

When Éponine met Marius Pontmercy for the first time, it had been raining.

It was also a Wednesday, was sometime after seven o'clock at night, and had been a very, very crap day as far as Éponine was concerned.

She had slept through her alarms that morning and was subsequently late for her shift in the grubby little backstreet café she used to work in. Then whilst she was at work, she spilt a strawberry milkshake down the front of her only good work shirt, dropped a plate of eggs and sausage on the floor and stood in it, dropped a cup of coffee onto a customer and forgot to place a wet floor sign out after mopping up one of these messes and, as a result of that, the café's owner slipped and fell.

After her boss had fallen, she was shouted at for about thirty minutes straight and fired. She had gone out the back of the café to find that someone had stolen her pushbike and she had to catch the bus. Then she hadn't had enough money on her to pay for her fare, so she'd had to walk into town. Once she'd reached the centre some guy had run up behind her and snatched her bag off her shoulder.

Marius had found her sat on the kerb, staring into space, after she'd cried harder than she'd cried in a few years. He'd walked past at first, but hadn't been able to keep on going. Instead, he crouched down beside her and said the words that would prove to be her undoing: "_Is everything all right_?"

She wasn't sure what had happened next – not completely. She remembered crying a bit more, wailing about all the things that had happened to her that day, and him just looking at her with warm, sympathetic eyes.

Then he reached down, took her by the hand, and led her to a nearby café where he bought her a coffee and a huge wedge of chocolate cake. They talked as she ate and drank, then he arranged her a taxi home. She took his number to arrange paying him back, and the rest, as they say, was history.

A month went by when they were just friends. They met up a lot, and he eventually introduced her to his friends. She brought Musichetta to the group, and Musichetta began to date Joly after only meeting him a couple of times. But that month passed and Éponine realised she'd developed feelings for Marius. It wasn't hard to see why – he was handsome, kind, and funny, and she felt safe around him.

It had been at their friend Bahorel's birthday party that they kissed for the first time. She wasn't sure who initiated the kiss first, her or him, but it didn't matter. For the first time, she was in a relationship with a _good person_. Someone who treated her like a human being instead of a plaything.

She was happy, so happy. She allowed herself to think of the future, something she didn't often do; she allowed herself to indulge in daydreams. She saw them moving in together, saw rings and white dresses and churches.

Looking back on that, she hated herself for thinking that way, for beginning to take it so seriously. She should have known that it would never go that way considering _nothing _in her life ever worked out in the long term.

She was brought crashing back down to earth when Cosette came back into her life.

She'd first met Cosette when she was Cosette Tholomyès, in a foster home, when they were both children. When they met again, she was now called Cosette Fauchelevent and they were both adults. She'd never liked Cosette when they lived together, and had hated her when she was adopted by a kindly and wealthy gentleman. Seeing her as an adult only made the hatred burn even more; Cosette grown into a lovely, beautiful young woman whose father paid for her apartment and her clothes and every fucking thing she wanted, whereas Éponine was barely scraping by.

They met each other by chance, when Cosette came into the supermarket Éponine had managed to get a job in and somehow, they both recognised each other. Éponine was immediately irritated by the other girl's too-chirpy nature, but found herself unable to turn down Cosette's offer of drinks that evening.

Éponine suggested the Café Musain, where Marius and his friends liked to hang out nearly every night, because it was _her _territory and where she felt the most comfortable. This was probably the biggest mistake she made, as she led Cosette right into Marius' path.

Two weeks went by, and Éponine could feel her relationship with Marius crumbling throughout that time. She wasn't particularly surprised when Marius told her he wanted to end things, but it was still like a dagger thrust into her chest. Then came the twist of the knife; the immediate confession that he was doing it because he loved Cosette.

Éponine had her suspicions from the way Marius looked and acted around Cosette, but she never expected him to say it out loud. Not to her face. Not as he broke up with her.

She was furious. She was furious with him, and she was furious with herself. She was angry with him for dumping her when she thought they were going somewhere, angry with him for being distracted by Cosette. And she was angry with herself for ever thinking that Marius was different to anyone else, angry with herself for daring to hope for anything better than her crappy little life.

OOO

Éponine stood outside the Café Musain, staring up at the sign with a resigned expression on her face. She kept one hand on the strap of her handbag, half considering flagging down another taxi and going straight back to her apartment and wallowing in a bowlful of ice cream and a glass of wine.

She swallowed. Could she do this? Could she go in there? She wasn't sure. She rocked back onto her heels, and began to turn away –

"Oh, no, don't you dare, Éponine Thenardier," a male voice called out. She recognised it instantly, and reluctantly turned to face the man that was walking towards her. It was Courfeyrac, cute and flirty with one of the biggest smiles she'd ever seen, walking with an easy gait down the pavement towards her.

"Hey," she said, hitching her bag up her shoulder. She felt silly. She'd even tried dressing up a little, to give herself confidence, but the lip-gloss she'd put on suddenly seemed to be sticking her lips together and her skirt seemed too short.

"Not seen you in a while," Courfeyrac continued, giving her a little pat on the shoulder. He reached out and put his hand on the door to the café. "Coming in?"

She found herself nodding, and was filled with trepidation as the door opened with its little chime. She followed him in, and was immediately enveloped in the smell of coffee. She couldn't have stopped the smile that came over her face even if she'd wanted to. During her relationship with Marius, this place had become a second home to her.

It was a smart, sophisticated little building with leather chairs, glass tables and cosy little booths. They served a range of different homemade cakes and pastries as well as their hot drinks, and were open until late. Éponine knew this was a favourite haunt of students, but really Marius and his friends were the only proper regulars it had.

In the basement of below the café was Corinth, a nightclub. Weekend gatherings in the café usually ended in the club drinking the night away, and as today was a Friday Éponine was seriously hoping that they'd be doing the same tonight.

Courfeyrac strode straight over to his group of friends, and Éponine followed behind him. Not everyone was there, she noticed; just Enjolras, Combeferre, Bossuet and Joly.

"Look who I found outside!" Courfeyrac boomed. "Éponine decided to leave her cave!"

Éponine shot him a glare as she dropped down onto one of the sofas the group was occupying.

There was a chorus of hellos from everyone but Enjolras, who was engrossed in writing something in one of his notebooks.

"Nice to see you again," Combeferre said, his eyes sparkling. "We were starting to think you'd never show up."

"You can thank Musichetta," Éponine shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck.

"So _that's _where she went this morning," Joly muttered, leaning back in his seat. "I wondered why she left so early."

"Yeah, well, she more or less threatened me," Éponine said. "So here I am."

"We've all missed you," Bossuet said, slapping her on the back in what was probably supposed to be a friendly way. He was a bit too heavy-handed, though, and nearly shoved her off her chair.

Combeferre's hand shot out and caught her by the elbow. "Easy," he murmured. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, giving him a small smile and adjusting how she was sat.

"Sorry, Éponine," Bossuet said, a little sheepish. "I, uh, was just trying –"

"It's fine." Éponine rooted in her handbag for her purse. Before extracting any money from its contents, she said, "What's happening tonight?"

"Same that happens every night," Courfeyrac chimed in, returning from purchasing himself a cup of coffee.

"Yeah, I know you'll all be hanging out here," Éponine said, slowly, "But –"

Before she could say anything, the door to the café burst open. More of their group burst in, chattering loudly. Even though she knew Marius was out of town, it was still a relief not to see his familiar figure amongst them. It was just Bahorel, Jehan, Feuilly and finally Grantaire.

She turned to face them, not really sure what to expect. But then Bahorel, Jehan and Grantaire were hugging her all at once and Feuilly was saying it was nice to see her.

"I wondered if you were dead," Grantaire said, keeping his arm around her. "You weren't answering my texts."

"My phone's playing up," Éponine said. "And, I've not been…well."

"Marius is a prick," Grantaire said, cheerfully. "I think we should celebrate tonight."

"Celebrate?" Éponine echoed. She kind of hoped that meant what she thought it meant.

"Yes." He grinned at her. "Celebrate your return to our fold after an extremely unfortunate and undeserved absence."

"Corinth?" she suggested, digging her elbow into Grantaire's side.

"You know me, Corinth is always a good idea," he shrugged. "Anyone else up for it?"

"Why not," Courfeyrac said. "I've got nothing else to do tonight."

Bahorel shrugged. "I'd just assumed we'd be going down there at some point tonight," he said.

"I think I'll give it a miss tonight, guys," Combeferre said, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Any particular reason why?" Courfeyrac waggled his eyebrows and took a gulp of his coffee.

"Not particularly," Combeferre said, amused. "Apart from the fact your one night stand didn't know the meaning of the word _quiet_."

Courfeyrac smirked, unashamed. "Not sorry," he said, his voice almost singing.

"You never are," Combeferre said.

"I'll remember this when you finally bring a girl back to the flat," Courfeyrac said.

"Huh?" Éponine, who had been listening to this conversation, furrowed her brow in confusion. "Do you guys live together now?" The last she'd known, Courfeyrac had been living with Marius.

There was a moment of silence. Courfeyrac glanced at Combeferre, who was staring down at his lap.

"Well, uh, I felt awkward living with Marius," Courfeyrac said. "Because Cosette moved in."

_Cosette moved in_. _Moved in_. They'd been together a matter of weeks and he'd already asked Cosette to move in? Éponine had dated him for months and never got the same offer!

She could feel the way that everyone was looking at her – their pity was almost tangible.

She forced down the feelings of anger that had arisen with Courfeyrac's words and shrugged. She plastered a smile on her face and turned her body towards Grantaire.

"So," she said, aware that the cheer in her voice sounded false, even to her own ears, "When do the celebrations begin?"

There was no expression on Grantaire's face as he looked at her, and she was grateful for that. He leaned forward in his seat. "You know me, Éponine," he said, keeping his voice light. "Never need an excuse to start drinking. We can pre-drink at mine, if you want."

Éponine slung her handbag over her shoulder. "Then why are we still here?" she said, cocking her head to one side.

The corners of Grantaire's mouth quirked up. "Let's go, then," he said, getting to his feet. "We'll see the rest of you later, right?"

There was a chorus of acquiescence from the members of the group that would be joining them that night, and goodbyes from the rest; then together, Éponine and Grantaire left the Café Musain.


	2. Cigarettes and Alcohol

**_Chapter Two_**

**Cigarettes and Alcohol**

Grantaire's apartment smelled of cigarettes and alcohol. It had been a while since she'd been inside, but it was almost like putting on a pair of your oldest, most comfortable shoes. She amused herself with this thought as she flopped down onto his sofa, kicking off her shoes and dropping her bag onto the floor.

"What's your poison?" Grantaire boomed, slamming the front door shut. She twisted where she lay on the sofa, resting her chin on the back of the sofa.

"What have you got?" she responded.

"What _haven't _I got," Grantaire said, mysteriously, crossing over to his kitchenette.

"Got any cider?" Éponine turned back around, stretching languorously.

"Of course…" Grantaire retrieved a can from the fridge, got himself a beer, and then joined her on the sofa. He sat on her feet at first. She glared at him and dragged her feet out from underneath him and plonked them into his lap. She accepted the can of cider and cracked it open.

"So how's things with you?" Éponine took a swig, not really enjoying the sour taste and fizz on her tongue.

"Shit, but what's new." Grantaire also drank from his bottle of beer, but for a lot longer than Éponine had; she noticed the bottle was nearly half-empty by the time he lowered it from his mouth. "But I'm more interested in you. How are you holding up since Pontmercy turned into a total twat?"

Éponine shrugged. "I'm okay," she said, slowly. "I just want to forget about it. All of it."

He leaned into her, knocking her shoulder with his. "You're in the right place."

"I just don't get it," she burst out, angrily gulping back more cider. "Yeah, Cosette's pretty, but she's like a fucking wet blanket. I couldn't stand her when we were kids and I certainly can't stand her now. What does he see in her?"

Grantaire stared at his friend, allowing her to rant.

"Do you not think your anger might be misplaced?" he suggested. "It's not Cosette's fault that Pontmercy was a dick, is it?"

Éponine considered this, glaring down into her can of cider with a somewhat mutinous expression on her face. "If he'd never met her…"

Grantaire held up his hands defensively. "Hey, I was just saying," he said. "He's a dick. Best you know it now than end up ten years down the line stuck with him."

She knew he meant best, but it didn't stop tears from burning behind her eyes. "I love him, though," she said, avoiding Grantaire's eyes. "I really do. And it's so hard. It's so hard not being able to just phone up and ask him to come over or go over to his or whatever. I miss the _comfort_ of him. He was so…"

She struggled to find the right word. "He was nice to me," she said, her voice low, almost a whisper.

Grantaire gave her an awkward pat on the knee. "'Ponine," he said. "I know you don't want to hear this. But things will get better. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even in a week's time or a month's time. But I reckon one day you'll look back on Marius and be like, what the fuck was I thinking?"

She snorted. She tilted her head back and tipped cider into her mouth and swallowed it in one, wincing as the acid burned her throat. "I'm already thinking that," she retorted. "I took a chance on Marius, you know? It was a big step for me."

"I believe that," Grantaire said, quietly. "You know, 'Ponine, you could just put this down to experience. You took a chance and it didn't go the way you wanted. You took a chance on the wrong guy, you know? You could have kissed any of us at Bahorel's party that night and we probably would have been delighted. Except, you know Joly, or Enjolras."

Éponine managed a small smile at Grantaire's dig at Enjolras' infamous refusal to date anyone. But the smile slipped off her face as quick as it appeared.

"But, hey, things could have gone differently," Grantaire continued, shrugging. "You had no way of knowing that Marius was going to do that when you started going out with him. No one can predict the future."

She drained her can and put it down onto the coffee table. Grantaire glared at her and reached over to retrieve a coaster from the pile on the corner of the table, and put her empty can down on top of it.

"Use a coaster or put it in the bin," he said.

"I forgot how restrictive being in your flat is," Éponine muttered, lacing her fingers over her stomach.

"Sorry if I don't like living in a pigsty," Grantaire said, messing with the pile of coasters. Removing one had disturbed the rest and she watched him as he repeatedly pushed them together to make sure the edges were all lined up.

"I think they're all right, Grantaire," Éponine said after a couple of minutes passed. Grantaire muttered something under his breath but didn't look away. He stopped lining them up and his hand now drifted to the top, his nails tapping out some rhythm onto the first coaster on the pile.

The rhythm done, Grantaire suddenly lurched out of his seat and knocked back the rest of his beer. "Want another one?" he said, already making his way over to the fridge.

"Sure." Éponine sat up, leaning her arms on the back of the sofa. "Why don't you just bring the entire pack over?" she suggested. "Saves you having to get up every time we want another one. And bring your bin over, maybe?"

"The bin stays where it is," Grantaire shot back. But when he returned to the sofa, he had a bin bag tucked under one arm as well as carrying a six-pack of beer and one of cider.

He placed the packs down on the coffee table and picked open the bin bag. With one flourish, he set it down onto the floor and shoved Éponine's empty cider can inside. She assumed he'd already discarded of his beer bottle in the proper bin. She reached across and worked one of the cans of cider out of its plastic ring.

Grantaire pulled another bottle of beer from its cardboard confines, and cracked it open with the bottle opener he'd tucked inside the box.

Then he turned towards Éponine. "Ready for the celebrations to begin?" he said. "No more depressing talk, okay?"

"Okay," she said, and they clinked their can and bottle together in agreement.

OOO

The club was dark but the lights were blinding and flashing and sometimes, Éponine wasn't sure where on earth she was, but those moments were only fleeting. She was fairly confident it was Grantaire who had his arms wrapped around her waist, but at the same time she wondered because someone nearby had wandering hands. People kept on bumping into her, or was she bumping into them? She had no idea. She didn't care, really.

She saw Courfeyrac dancing with some girl with blonde hair and a butterfly tattoo not too far from them, and Bahorel had some girl pressed into a corner. In the darkness it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. She knew that Jehan was somewhere because occasionally she'd see him dance past, and she vaguely remembered that Feuilly was at least _there_ when they were queuing to get into Corinth…

She disentangled herself from Grantaire. "Toilet," she bellowed, although she wasn't sure if he could even hear her over the top of the music. She weaved her way through the mass of dancing bodies. Her feet wobbled on her shoes – she wasn't even wearing high heels, just Cuban heeled boots. She grabbed hold of the nearest thing to right herself, which happened to be a person. A man, to be more precise, who seemed to think she was coming on to him. She shoved away from him and continued on her journey to the ladies' toilets.

The toilets were empty apart from a sobbing girl leaning against a wall, surrounded by her friends who were trying to convince her _he didn't mean it_. Éponine felt like interrupting to say _he probably did_, but once she'd locked herself in the toilet cubicle she was able to block out the sobbing.

Sat on the toilet itself, she leaned her head against the toilet roll dispenser and contemplated how her head was swimming and it felt like she was moving her limbs through treacle. She closed her eyes, her mind drifting. She was aware that her forehead was slipping off the plastic dispenser and when it finally fell she couldn't help the slightly hysterical laughter that bubbled from her mouth.

The laughter died hard when she thought about why she'd got drunk that night. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as she finished up in the toilet cubicle.

Stepping out into the main toilet area, she noticed that the sobbing girl was gone and so were her friends. She wondered just how long she'd been in that cubicle by herself as she soaped up her hands and rinsed them. She wiped them dry on her skirt, and then caught sight of herself in the huge mirror above the sinks.

Her dark hair was tousled, sticking up in too many different directions and looked a mess. There were bags under her eyes, which seemed too wide and too bright in her face. Her eye make up had also smudged slightly, and her lip-gloss was long gone.

She braced her arms on the countertop, leaning in closer to stare at her reflection. Yes, it was _her _reflection, but she didn't recognise the girl staring back at her. There was something in her eyes that Éponine didn't like; some sense of defeat that made her feel like punching the mirror just to see the defeat shatter.

She allowed her eyes to close. She could still hear the music very clearly, even here, feel the bass ricocheting up her legs and spine. She knew that she'd be missed out there if she didn't go out soon, but all of a sudden she had come down from her high and she wanted to go home.

Before she could move, the door to the toilets crashed open and Grantaire barrelled in. "Ehh-po-_neen_!" he bellowed, at the top of his voice. "Éponine! What are you doing in here?" His voice was very slurred.

Éponine pushed away from the counter and looped her arms around his waist. "I was using the toilet," she mumbled.

"You've been gone ages," he said, dragging her towards the door. "Come dance!"

She let him tow her out of the toilets. "Cigarette break first?" she suggested, waving her hand wildly towards the stairs leading up out of the club. "Fresh air?"

She felt like she needed fresh air desperately, just to clear some of the fog over her mind.

"Sure!" They climbed the steps together hand-in-hand, staggering past the slightly amused looking bouncers in the doorway.

Éponine fumbled in her handbag for her cigarettes and her lighter. She let Grantaire take one because she wasn't sure if he had any cigarettes on him, and lit it for him before lighting one of her own. She sat on a wall opposite the club and took a deep drag.

Grantaire was trying, and failing, to use the kerb as a balancing beam, his cigarette dangling out of his mouth. He had his arms completely outstretched but they were wobbling dangerously.

Éponine kept her mouth open and let the smoke curl out slowly, and then blew out hard. "Grantaire," she called, crossing her legs at the ankles.

He turned to look at her, distracted, and that was all it took for him to lose his balance. He fell off the kerb, hitting the road hard.

Éponine lurched forward off the wall, letting her cigarette drop to the ground as she did so. She stomped on it as she hurried over to Grantaire, who was lying on the tarmac, giggling up at the sky.

"Get up," she ordered, putting her hands beneath him and lifting him upwards. "C'mon, Grantaire, it's a fucking road."

She managed to haul him backwards until he was sat on the kerb, but she couldn't have moved him any further. There were bloody grazes on his forearms and elbows.

"You're an idiot," she said, picking some gravel off one of the grazes with as much care as her drunken fingers could manage. "I think we need to go home, Grantaire, don't you?"

He rested his head on her shoulder. "Combe…ferre," he mumbled into the crook of her neck.

"Combeferre?" she echoed.

"He picks me up," he explained.

"Okay, sweetheart." The endearment fell easily off her tongue now she felt like she was looking after a child. The fresh air and the blood on Grantaire's arms had sobered her up a little. "I'll give him a call now."

She reached into her handbag for her phone. It took her a couple of minutes to unlock it as her fingers were clumsy over the buttons, but it wasn't long before she was calling Combeferre.

He picked up on the third ring, and his voice was slow and sleepy. "Éponine?" he said, almost groaning. "Is everything all right?" By the time he finished speaking his voice was a lot clearer with an edge of concern. She'd had Combeferre's number in her phone since she'd met him, but she wasn't sure she'd ever actually used it.

"Grantaire fell over," she said, not sure what else to say. She felt a bit cheeky asking him for a lift home.

There were a few moments of silence. Éponine stared up at the sky and smoothed her free hand over Grantaire's curly hair.

"Are you at Corinth?" Combeferre said. She could hear noises in the background, shuffling noises.

She nodded, then remembered he couldn't actually see her. "Yes."

A heavy sigh came down the phone. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

He hung up, and she dropped her phone into her bag. Grantaire stared up at her with sleepy eyes.

"Hello," she said, giving him a small smile. "Combeferre's coming to pick us up now."

"My arms hurt," Grantaire muttered.

"I'm not surprised, you fell pretty hard." She let her head drop onto his.

She saw Bahorel stumble out, hand in hand with the girl he'd been making out with inside the club. They went off up the street and didn't seem to notice Éponine or Grantaire.

"Why won't my mind stop?" Grantaire spoke in almost a whisper, and she nearly didn't catch what he said. "It just…It just won't."

Éponine wasn't sure what to say to that, so instead of saying anything she dropped a kiss into his curls and rubbed his shoulder. "It's okay," she found herself saying, even though she hated it when people said those words to her when she was like this. "It's okay."

Ten minutes later, Combeferre's car rolled up outside the club. She got up and tried to get Grantaire to do the same, but he was far too heavy for her to lift. She tried again, but then Combeferre was there, looping Grantaire's arm around his neck and hauling him to his feet.

Together, Combeferre and Éponine managed to get Grantaire into the backseat of Combeferre's car. Combeferre got back into the driver's seat whilst Éponine arranged Grantaire's seatbelt.

Éponine joined Combeferre in the front. "Thanks for this," she said, as he began to drive.

"No problem," he said. "I'm used to it. I'm Grantaire's personal taxi."

"I'm sorry." Éponine rested her forehead against the window, enjoying how cool it felt. "You…You said before you were tired."

"I am," Combeferre admitted. "But I can deal with it. I'd rather give you both a lift home and know he's safe." He jerked his head towards the back of the car. Soft snores drifted through to the front.

"Well, I appreciate it," Éponine said. "I was planning on walking," she added, running a hand through her hair. Combeferre glanced at her, raising his eyebrows.

"Then I'm even more glad you called me," he said. "I don't like the idea of you wandering home at night by yourself."

Éponine snorted. "I can handle myself." She'd had a lifetime of handling herself. Walking home alone was nothing to her.

"Maybe," Combeferre said, a tight smile playing on his lips. "But it's still not sensible. I can become your taxi, too, if you like."

She wrinkled her nose. "You're all right." A thought occurred to her. "So what does Grantaire do on nights when you're drinking, too?"

"Enjolras, usually." The car slowed as they stopped at some traffic lights. "Sometimes, we go crazy and actually call a taxi."

"A novel idea," Éponine muttered, starting to feel a little queasy. Cars had never been her favourite vehicle, especially not when she was drunk.

"Did you have fun tonight?" Combeferre asked.

"Yeah…" Éponine's head lolled to one side as she turned to look at him. "It was okay. Until Grantaire fell."

"I noticed those grazes," Combeferre said. "They looked nasty…" He glanced at her. "Éponine, are you feeling okay?"

She looked straight ahead as she considered her answer. "I could be sick," she said, carefully. "But I won't be sick in your car."

"Well, we're nearly at Grantaire's," he replied. She thought his voice was very soothing and warm and she wanted to hear more of it.

They reached Grantaire's flat within the next three minutes. She was able to help Combeferre lead a half-asleep Grantaire up into his apartment. She flopped down onto Grantaire's sofa as Combeferre put the other man to bed.

Éponine lay there. She stared up at the ceiling, but that was moving too fast, spinning round and round. So she closed her eyes, hoping this would help, but the blackness just continued to spin even more. Her stomach rolled, gurgled, and she could feel the vomit rising up her throat.

She dived off the sofa and ran into Grantaire's spotlessly clean bathroom. She flung herself to her knees, burying her head in the toilet bowl as she began to throw up the contents of her stomach. It tasted like the cider she'd drunk earlier and the rum and coke's she'd downed at the bar and she thought it was never going to end.

She felt hands brushing through her hair, gathering it back to the nape of her neck, and them someone was rubbing her back.

She spluttered and coughed, thinking it was finally over. Her stomach settled at last as she rested her head against the toilet seat. Her eyes drifted shut. She could happily fall asleep here.

"Éponine…" The hands had left her hair and her back, and Combeferre was there, crouched in front of her and pressing a glass of water into her hands. "Drink that, but drink it slowly."

She accepted the glass and ignored his words, guzzling down the water. She drank the first few mouthfuls, then swilled and spat out the rest. She sat down properly, her legs splayed awkwardly across the tiles, and watched as Combeferre flushed the toilet and wiped around the sides with some tissues.

When he was done, he turned and gave her a smile. "Feel better?" he said.

She nodded, and took another gulp of water that emptied the glass. He took it off her, and rinsed it out in the kitchen sink and placed it back on the shelf where he had got it from.

"Let's get you home," he said, helping her to her feet. She stumbled slightly, and he wrapped an arm around her waist. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she muttered.

She thought she might have heard him chuckle, but she wasn't sure.

She managed to make her way back to the car without falling, but that might have had more to do with the fact Combeferre's hand was always hovering near her waist to help her every time she looked like she was going to stumble.

Sat in the front seat, in the warm car, no longer feeling sick, Éponine let her eyes close. Her mind began to drift. She felt comfortable and safe and it was with those feelings at the forefront of her mind that she began to fall asleep.


	3. Masochistic

**_Chapter Three_**

**Masochistic**

Éponine woke the next morning still feeling somewhat tipsy.

She raised her head off her pillow, her head spinning slowly. She could remember everything of her night up until getting back into Combeferre's car outside Grantaire's apartment.

A groan escaped her throat. She rolled onto her back, pressing her hand to her forehead. Her whole body felt sluggish, her stomach delicate. She forced herself to sit up properly, resting her back against the wall behind her.

She looked down at herself and saw she was still wearing the plaid shirt and skirt she had been wearing the night before, although her boots and socks had been removed and placed neatly by her beside. Her handbag sat on the armchair in the corner of her room.

She wrinkled her nose at the taste of her own morning breath as she yawned, raking a hand through her hair. She glanced to her right, to her bedside table.

There was a glass of water sat there, and a couple of paracetamol beside that. And propped up against it was a slip of paper.

Éponine picked that up first, and read the words written on it in a neat, simple handwriting.

_I took your spare keys from the kitchen cupboard to lock up. I'll give them back to you when I next see you. I hope you're okay this morning. Combeferre _

She reread it a couple of times, trying to force the words to make sense in her head. Eventually, they sank in and she put the note back onto the bedside table. She picked up the glass of the water with a slightly trembling hand, and took a gulp. She popped both of the tablets into her mouth at once and washed them down with the water.

She drank the rest of the water, enjoying the cool fluid sluicing her dry throat. Then she couldn't help herself; she snuggled back under her duvet and went back to sleep.

OOO

The next time she opened her eyes, it was one o'clock in the afternoon and the world had stopped spinning. Her stomach still felt delicate, and her throat raw, but overall, she felt less like she'd just been run over with a truck. She rolled over onto her front and buried her face into her pillow, a low groan escaping her throat. She had never, ever been so happy that it was her day off in her entire life.

She eventually forced herself to sit up and swing her legs out of her bed. She made her way over to her bathroom, unbuttoning her plaid shirt and slipping it off her shoulders as she went. She needed a shower, desperately, to try and clear her mind a little.

She unzipped her skirt and let it fall, stepping out of it where it pooled around her ankles. She opened her shower cubicle and twisted the knob, adjusting the heat and pressure of the water. She wanted it as hot as possible – she wanted to feel as clean as she possibly could.

The water was near scalding when she finally stepped inside, biting at her skin and making it hum. She lathered the coconut scented shampoo into her hair, took the time to use conditioner as well, and even made a quick attempt at shaving her legs. She stayed in the shower cubicle until the water was cooling.

Wrapped in a slightly scratchy towel, she flopped back down onto her bed. the heat of the water had made her feel a little bit sleepy and her limbs felt heavy, like lead, but strangely, her mind was a lot clearer than it had been before. Now she'd brushed her teeth her mouth felt less disgusting as well. At least she felt like a human being fully capable of going about her life, and less like a slug born to burrow underground.

She'd just slipped into a pair of leggings and a plain white T-shirt when she heard the sound of her mobile ringing. It took her a few moments to work out where on earth the ringing was coming from, and eventually pinpointed it to her handbag. She smacked herself in the forehead for not thinking of that sensible place earlier.

It had stopped ringing by the time she had fumbled the handbag open and had the phone in her hand. She had one missed call, from Grantaire. Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, she called him back.

"Hey," she said, rolling her shoulders. "How's your head this morning?"

"What the fuck happened to my arms?" was the gruff response.

"You fell pretending that a kerb was a tightrope," Éponine said. "Your head?"

"Not as bad as you'd expect." She tucked the phone between her chin and shoulder before stretching a sock onto one of her feet. "Yours?"

"Same," she said. "But I took some painkillers before."

Her friend snorted down the phone. "I'm assuming Combeferre put you to bed as well?"

"Yeah," she said, and she wasn't really sure about how she felt about that. Sure, he'd been a perfect gentleman and had been kind and considerate in leaving her the water and the paracetamol, but she'd never really liked being looked after by anybody. There were too many times in her life when she'd had to – and could still have to – rely on the kindness of others and it didn't sit right with her. He wasn't Marius, after all.

"Yeah, he's good like that," Grantaire said. "Very good at dealing with drunks. Still, last night was all right, wasn't it?"

Éponine put on her second sock as she considered his words. "The sambuca shots were not a good idea, on reflection," she said.

"I think the were the best idea either of us had all night," Grantaire countered in an amused voice. "What're you planning on doing for the rest of the day?"

Éponine stared down at her now sock-clad feet and wiggled her toes. "Growing mould," she said. "Fuck all. You?"

"Same, but with a side glass of whiskey," Grantaire said. "Have fun."

"You too," she replied, and he had hung up before she could say anything else to him.

OOO

Éponine had been making models from clay for a few years now. The obsession had first begun making salt dough animals when she was in foster care, and then when she was older, she began to buy polymer clay in all sorts of bright colours. She used to make them for herself, something fun to decorate her room. And then…After everything that happened, and she finally struck out on her own and got her own place, she found an article on the internet about jewellery-making, and that was when the obsession took a new shape. She sold her handmade jewellery on a small online shop, but sales weren't much. It was more of a hobby for her.

So there she sat, feeling slightly hung over, making a pair of earrings for Musichetta whose birthday was in a couple of weeks. She'd decided to make some in the shapes of tigers, using up the packet of bright orange clay she'd bought to make a necklace of tiny oranges.

A film was playing on the television, but she was barely paying any attention as she made sure the little balls of clay she was using for the tiger's bodies were roughly the same size and shape.

It was nice to keep her mind occupied. Since she'd broken up with Marius, she hadn't felt the inclination to get out her clay and her tools and start making jewellery. But last night, getting drunk, it had almost been like a catharsis. She wasn't completely over Marius – not by a long shot – but she was getting there. Slowly, in her own way.

She was just doing the fiddly job of creating some ears for the tigers' heads when her phone rang again.

She rubbed her hands on her leggings and reached over to grab her phone. She nearly dropped it when she saw the caller ID. _Marius calling_. His face was flashing up on the screen. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

She wondered why she still had his number. Why hadn't she deleted it?

Not that it would have stopped him from calling her, she mused, swiping the phone to answer it. "Hello?" she said, her voice cautious even to her own ears.

"Éponine, hi," Marius said. His voice was like warm chocolate, so warm and sweet and inviting but too much…too much could do some harm to a girl. "I was worried you weren't going to pick up."

"I wonder why," she said, words dripping with sarcasm.

He sighed, heavily. "I can't apologise anymore."

She didn't respond to that. Instead, she said, "What do you want?"

"I've got a favour to ask," he said. "A huge favour."

She closed her eyes and rubbed a hand over them. She rubbed the muscles on the side of her neck, wanting to curl up and go to sleep all of a sudden. "A favour," she repeated.

"I'm out of town at the minute," he said. "I should have been back this afternoon and I have reservations in a restaurant with Cosette…"

Éponine's eyes flashed open. "I don't see what that could possibly have to do with me, Marius."

"Well, Cosette was really excited – it's a restaurant she's wanted to eat at for a while – and I'm stuck at my grandfather's overnight, there's been some hold-up with the trains – and it'd be a shame for the reservations to go to waste…"

"I really hope you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting," Éponine said, with a completely humourless chuckle.

"Please, Éponine. Cosette doesn't know anyone else in the city, but she knows _you_. And she wants to get to know you again, she told me." There were a few moments of silence. "Please, Éponine."

"You really _are _asking me to go to a fancy restaurant with your girlfriend, aren't you, Marius," Éponine said. "You're asking your _ex-girlfriend _to go on a _date _in your _place_, aren't you?"

"It's not that fancy a restaurant," Marius contradicted.

"I can't afford it," Éponine said, which was kind of true. She'd spent a lot of money on alcohol last night.

"Cosette will pay," Marius insisted. "I can pay her back when I see her. _Please_, Éponine. Cosette…Cosette's very lonely. She doesn't _know _anyone here."

Éponine could have slapped herself in the face when the word "_yes_" left her lips a few moments later.

OOO

Talking on the phone to Cosette to make plans was more irritating than talking to Marius. Her voice was too sunny and bright and she was far too happy.

"I'm _so _glad you said yes," she was saying. "I mean, I know I was supposed to go with Marius but Éponine I've wanted to see you for weeks and I'm _really _looking forward to this, it's been _so long _since I've had a proper girly chat with someone. Moving here has been really hard and my friends are so far away and it'll be so nice to chat to someone that, you know, _isn't _Marius…"

"Yeah, it'll be nice to see you too," Éponine said, the words sounding heavy and false in her own mouth. "So, um, what's the dress code for this place?"

"Smart casual," Cosette said, sounding a little put-out at the change of subject. "So a nice dress –"

"Heels?" Éponine said.

"Well, if you want to – I'm wearing wedges myself, and –"

"Where do you want to meet?" Éponine leaned back into her sofa, wanting this phone call (and the whole day) to just be over.

"The reservation is at half-six," Cosette said.

"That's…That's not really what I asked, but we could meet at the Café Musain if you want?" Éponine suggested.

"That's fine by me – the Café's not too far from the restaurant, so we could walk…We could meet at six if you like, get a coffee first?"

She didn't like the idea, not much, but at least there was a chance she could drink that coffee with people she knew and actually got on with and liked.

So she agreed.

"Of course," she said. "We can get a coffee first."

OOO

Éponine walked into the Café Musain at quarter to six. She was wearing a plain black skater dress with black shoe boots and her leather jacket thrown on over the top. She'd put her hair up into a bun and a pair of her own handmade earrings that were shaped like red stars.

She found the café surprisingly empty, apart from Combeferre, who was at alone on the sofas, reading a newspaper.

She called out his name as she walked over to him. He looked up, his expression a little bit surprised at first, but his mouth broke out into a slow smile when he saw her.

"You look nice," he said. "Going somewhere?"

"Yes, actually." She dropped onto the sofa that was opposite him, letting her head loll back.

"To the Corinth?" he suggested. "We're all going down there later tonight. Jehan's had a poem published in a magazine and he wants to celebrate."

Éponine's head snapped forward. "No," she said. "I didn't know about that, actually. Fuck's sake."

A frown of concern flickered over Combeferre's face. "What's up?"

"Fucking Marius and Cosette," Éponine sneered. "Marius phoned me before and asked if I'd go out for dinner with Cosette in his place because he's stuck at his grandfather's or some shit like that."

Combeferre, who had just taken a gulp of his coffee, spat it out. "And you said _yes_?"

"I know, I know," Éponine groaned.

"Are you a masochist?" he asked, putting his coffee down on the table in between them. "Seriously, Éponine. Why would you say yes? You don't have to do everything Marius asks you to."

This was probably the harshest she'd ever seen Combeferre. He was normally so calm and relaxed – and to be fair, not much had changed about that in his actual demeanour, but there was some bite to his words.

"I know full well I don't _have _to," Éponine said. "But – you know…It was _Marius _and I – is it that masochistic?"

"You've agreed to go to dinner with the girl your ex-boyfriend left you for," Combeferre said, slowly. "And you used the words 'in his place' so I'm going to assume this dinner was _supposed _to be a date for them and you're going instead. Considering the potential emotional upset you're letting yourself in for, yes, I'd say there's definitely a masochistic element in there somewhere, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe," she conceded. There was some truth to his words, she knew. "It's not like I've ever been known for making life easy for myself," she said, more to herself than to him. In fact, she hadn't really realised she'd been speaking out loud until she caught the almost sad look on Combeferre's face. It was a fleeting look, gone in a heartbeat, but she saw it and it was enough to make her swallow automatically and look down at her lap.

"Hey," he said, his voice very soft and gentle. "Look, ignore me. I don't know what I'm talking about and it's not my place to judge. What you're doing – not a lot of people would do it, and it's a _nice_ thing, Éponine. It's a nice thing you're doing by spending time with someone who hasn't got any friends here. It's just unfortunate that, you know…"

She raised her head, but she couldn't quite meet his eye. She looked away completely, staring fixedly out of the window. "It's unfortunate she's going out with the man I'm in love with, right?"

Combeferre didn't respond. A second after she spoke, arms were flung around her neck and she nearly jumped out of her skin. "Éponine!" Musichetta's voice squealed d own her ear. "Are you coming out tonight? I sent a Facebook message…"

"I haven't been on Facebook today," Éponine said, patting her friend's arm. Musichetta pressed a kiss to Éponine's face and then she was flopping down onto the sofa next to her.

"But you're all dressed up," Musichetta said, looking confused.

"I'm going out to dinner," Éponine replied. "And don't get excited, 'Chetta, it's with Cosette."

"_Cosette_?" Musichetta's eyebrows disappeared somewhere into her hairline. "Cosette? Seriously? How did this happen?"

Éponine explained the situation as briefly as she could. By the time she had finished, Joly had wandered over carrying a cup of coffee for himself and a hot chocolate complete with whipped cream and marshmallows for Musichetta, and Éponine was beginning to feel a little overdressed.

"Are you sure you're going to be all right with that?" Musichetta said, stirring the cream and melting marshmallow into the hot drink. "Éponine, no one would blame you for cancelling…"

"It's a free meal, right?" Éponine shrugged. "It's really no big deal. I'll be fine."

"Well…" Musichetta didn't look convinced. Combeferre and Joly began to talk to each other, and Musichetta edged closer on the sofa to Éponine. "Are you sure?"

"Musichetta, drop it." Éponine rubbed the side of her neck. "Please. What are your plans for tonight, anyway?"

"We're pre-drinking at mine," Combeferre chipped in. "At around ten, right?"

Musichetta nodded. "Yeah, but it doesn't really matter. We're going to head to the club at about twelve…"

"Hopefully the meal will be done before then," Éponine said. "So I might show my face later. I'll text you or something to see where everyone's at."

"_Or_," Musichetta said, slowly, "You could just…"

"Come on, leave her alone," Combeferre interrupted. "What restaurant are you eating at tonight?"

"Fuck knows," Éponine shrugged. "I don't particularly care. As I said, it's a free meal. But I hope it's nothing too fancy, I don't really fancy eating…I don't know, cod's liver fried in baby's breath on a bed of crushed angel hair with a ferret reduction or whatever."

"That tells me two things, Éponine," Combeferre said, amused. "One, you've been watching too many cookery programmes, and two, you put _way _too much thought into that. Are you seriously worried that's what they're going to serve?"

"Obviously not that exact meal," Éponine said. "If someone tried to serve me that I'd shove it down their throat and see how they liked it."

Joly was too busy rubbing hand sanitizer into his hands to join in on the conversation, and Musichetta was just looking at her with an expression Éponine didn't like on her face. But Combeferre had stopped looking at her with that slightly sad look and was now just smiling.

"I hope you have a really nice time," he said. "And I hope I see you later."

The finality in his words was almost like he was saying goodbye, and that made Éponine's shoulders tense up instinctively. It meant one thing – Cosette had arrived.


	4. Hard to Hate

**_Chapter Four_**

**Hard to Hate**

Looking over her shoulder, Éponine saw the vision that was Cosette. As much as it pained her to admit it she had to say Cosette was very pretty – no, not pretty, beautiful was the right word. She was tall and slim, not too thin with just the right amount of curves. Her skin was creamy and flawless, her eyes sparkling and blue, her lips full and rosy. Her light brown hair fell in soft waves around her heart-shaped face to the small of her back.

Éponine remembered back to when Cosette had first appeared in their foster home, scrawny and underfed with ratty hair. She'd been an awkward little girl, even when she had eaten more and was looked after properly, and had never really been a pretty child. She'd been brutally teased by the other children, as well.

If they could see her now, Éponine mused. She'd probably gotten the best deal out of all of them when she'd been adopted by that man.

Cosette had paused near the doorway and was surveying the café, clearly looking for Éponine. True to her word, she was wearing wedges – not the towering five inch ones that Éponine had envisioned in her head, but strappy summer sandals that gave the already tall girl a bit of extra height. She wore a sundress that hugged her breasts and torso but flared out at the hips; the fabric was white and smattered with flowers of pale blues, pinks and purples with pale green stems and leaves. An ivory cardigan was resting over Cosette's arms and as Éponine watched her, Cosette shrugged it on and adjusted the strap of her brown leather handbag.

"Fuck's sake," Éponine hissed, sliding down on the sofa. "Why is she so pretty?"

Musichetta patted her on the shoulder. "If it's any consolation, I'd rather sleep with you."

"Not really." Éponine groaned. "Has she seen me?"

"Yes, literally _just now_…Hello, Cosette!" Musichetta plastered a huge beam on her face.

Éponine twisted in her seat. "Hi," she said, not quite wanting to meet Cosette's eye. But Cosette had walked around the sofa until she was stood directly in front of Éponine. She leaned down and wrapped her arms around Éponine's neck. Éponine had no choice but to hug Cosette back, resting her chin on Cosette's shoulder and inhaling a gentle flowery scent radiating from Cosette. She caught Combeferre's eye. He gave her an encouraging smile and a little nod.

Cosette moved backwards, her hands sliding down Éponine's arms until she had caught Éponine's fingers with her own.

"I really appreciate this, Éponine," she said, her bag beginning to slide down her shoulder. She pulled one hand away from Éponine's to push the bag back up into the right place. "I suggested it to Marius but I was so worried you'd say no, and…"

She sank down onto the sofa on Éponine's other side. "Oh, I love your earrings," she continued, flicking one of the red stars. "They're so _cute_. Where did you get them from?"

"I made them," Éponine said.

"Did you?" Cosette's eyes lit up. "I remember. You used to be so good at making those animals. Do you make a lot, then?"

"Sometimes. It's a hobby." Éponine felt Musichetta shifting beside her and realised her friend was abandoning her to sit on Joly's knee. Her hand was still in Cosette's as well, and she began trying to inch her fingers away. However Cosette's grip was a lot stronger than she expected.

"They're lovely." Cosette smiled at her. "Do you do requests?"

She did, but she wasn't quite at the stage of making Cosette jewellery _just _yet. "I've not really had the time to make any lately," she said. "I've been working more."

"That's a shame, because they're really sweet. I'd like to see more of the things you've made." Cosette finally pulled her hand away to tuck some hair behind her ears. "Do you want a coffee, by the way?"

"I'm okay," Éponine said. Cosette began to root in her bag for her purse and Éponine took the other girl's distraction as a chance to catch Musichetta's eye.

Her friend was in the process of gathering her hair over one shoulder whilst Joly fiddled with the clasp of her necklace. Éponine realised that Musichetta was wearing one of her designs, the pendant being that of a multicoloured lollypop. Éponine had enjoyed making it – she'd even taken the time to paint Musichetta's name along the stick in miniscule, candy pink lettering.

"She made me this for Christmas," Musichetta said as Joly handed her the necklace.

Cosette looked up from her search for her purse as Musichetta reached over to show her the pendant. Cosette took it from her and held the lollypop in the palm of her hand, smoothing her fingers over the ridged surface. "Oh, that's pretty," Cosette said. "Very quirky, too. I've seen loads of things like this on online shops but it can get stupidly expensive. Do you sell anywhere?"

Éponine fiddled with her hem of her skirt. "I have an account on a big online shop," she said. "But the market's pretty competitive and as I said, it's just a hobby."

Cosette glanced at her as she handed the necklace back to Musichetta. "I make samplers," she said. "You know, cross stitch. I used to do requests for quotes and figures and stuff as a bit of extra pocket money. I do it to relax now."

Éponine didn't really know what to say to that. Cosette seemed to feel they'd reached a dead end as well. She glanced at the delicate gold watch on her wrist and said, "I'm not too fussed about the coffee either, Éponine, if you wanted to go now to the restaurant? It's not that far away but it's a nice evening and we could walk slowly…"

Éponine shuffled forward so that she was on the edge of the sofa. "We can do, yeah," she agreed. Anything to get the meal over faster. "See you all later," she said to the three who remained sat down. She tried to communicate with her eyes that she would be joining them in Corinth later.

"I'm sure I'll see you all when Marius is back in town," Cosette said, giving them a sunny smile.

"We look forward to it," Combeferre replied in a polite voice. Joly bowed his head and Musichetta grinned back at Cosette over the top of her hot chocolate. Cosette turned her back on them to look at Éponine.

Over Cosette's shoulder, Éponine saw Musichetta mouth, "_Good luck_."

And she felt like she was going to need it, too.

OOO

The restaurant was nowhere near as fancy as Éponine had been expecting. It had walls painted in a mint green, simple glass decorations and elegant black and white photography hanging here and there.

Éponine was also pleased to find it was not as intimate as she had feared it would be. There were no cosy, shadowy corners made for kissing and cuddling. It sounded silly even in her own brain but it made her feel much more at ease – maybe this meal was not the romantic date she had envisioned.

Or maybe it had been, on reflection.

They were sat at a table for two on the edge of the room. Cosette had ordered them white wine – not Éponine's favourite alcoholic beverage, but it would do – and was currently telling Éponine about the last few weeks. They'd already eaten their starters, and their mains, and were currently waiting on dessert.

Éponine drifted into the conversation every so often before drifting back out again. Something about Cosette's job as a librarian, how she didn't like the women she worked with because they were too gossipy…Something about volunteering to work in a charity shop. That was much more fulfilling, apparently.

Éponine had worked in a charity shop once but not because she wanted to. She'd been very angry at the time and had skived as much as possible, going for a cigarettes near the bins when she was supposed to be sorting through bags of crappy, broken toys and shitty, smelly clothes. It hadn't been very fulfilling for her.

But it had been the beginning of her getting on the right track, she supposed, so she had to appreciate her time in the charity shop for that if nothing else. It was certainly better than the alternative.

"…The thing is, though, I want to give it a full year. I do like the city and then there's obviously Marius to think of, but the job really isn't what I thought it would be. I'm sad I left the library back home behind." Cosette ran her fingertip around the rim of her wineglass and cocked her head to one side. She pressed the back of her other hand against one of her ever so slightly flushed cheeks. Éponine had drunk far less than Cosette – she was still nursing her first glass of wine – but her companion had almost emptied the bottle singlehandedly.

Éponine wondered whether Cosette was more nervous about this meal than she'd liked to let on.

"I'm sorry," Cosette said, suddenly. "I've been talking too much about myself, haven't I? It's really rude of me. My father would have told me off by now." There was a fond twinkle in Cosette's eyes when she mentioned her father.

"It's fine," Éponine assured the other girl. "I'm, you know, not that fussed about talking, I'm more of a listener anyway…"

"No, I want to hear about your life." Cosette topped up her glass of wine. "We barely caught up with each other when we met again."

_Because you were stealing my boyfriend_, Éponine thought harshly in her mind. Outwardly, she said, "We didn't really get the chance. There's not much to say, anyway. I work in a supermarket and I can barely pay the bills."

Cosette seemed to hear the words that Éponine hadn't said, and the brightness of her smile dimmed a little. "Éponine…I am sorry," she said. "For what's happened. It's not…It's not what I intended."

Éponine cleared her throat. "Yeah, I don't really want to talk about it," Éponine muttered. "If you don't mind."

Cosette pursed her lips. "Sure." At that moment, the waiter arrived with their desserts. Éponine had ordered herself a huge slab of hot chocolate fudge cake with vanilla ice cream, whilst Cosette had gone for a glass bowl full of whipped cream, vanilla ice cream, fresh strawberries and meringue.

"So how are your brother and sister?" Cosette said. "I know – Gavroche, was it? He was adopted, wasn't he? Have you seen him?"

"No," Éponine said, shovelling a huge spoonful of gooey, chocolatey mess into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed, convinced herself that there was chocolate around her mouth, then continued. "Not a word, not since he went. I'm not sure where I stand on it, to be honest. They legally adopted him and he was only a toddler. I don't think he'd remember who I was."

"That's sad," Cosette said. "Have you thought about trying to find him?"

Éponine sipped her wine. "As I said, I don't know where I stand on it." Oh, but she'd _thought _about it. Dreamed of it in more recent months.

"And Azelma?" Cosette wiped her mouth delicately with a napkin. Éponine wondered whether this was a hint she should do the same.

"Well, she was a little shit as I'm sure you remember," Éponine said. "She got moved to a different home not long after you went because she bit one of the other kids on the face. We phoned each other occasionally, but…I couldn't tell you, to be honest. She'd be eighteen now, so she's probably out of care. She hasn't been in touch."

Which was a good thing, because Éponine had a horrible feeling Azelma had followed in her older sister's footsteps upon leaving the system.

Cosette dragged her spoon through the pile of cream, then licked the back of the spoon. "Do you ever think about it? The home?"

"I think about it all the time," Éponine said honestly. "Like it or not, it was a huge part of my life. And it wasn't necessarily the worst part either. You?"

"Honestly?" Cosette rested her chin on her fist, tapping her spoon against the side of the glass bowl. "I try not to think about it. My memories are very hazy. I remember you, of course, and your siblings."

Éponine felt a twinge in her stomach. Not the best of memories, then.

But Cosette was smiling at her, still. There was no resentment in her eyes, none whatsoever.

"I'm so glad you agreed to come tonight," she was now saying. Éponine stared hard at her chocolate cake. "It's nice to talk to an old friend."

Rather than respond, Éponine shoved another spoonful of cake into her mouth.

OOO

Once the meal was over, Cosette paid for a taxi for them both. It dropped Éponine off first at her apartment.

Éponine thanked her for the meal, made a half-hearted offer to pay her back at some point (which was refused) and then Cosette was gone.

Now alone, Éponine made her way back up to her apartment and fired off a few messages to her friends. It was still an hour before any of them were meeting up, but she at least wanted to let them know she would be there at some point.

She felt at a loss. She dug out a bottle of whiskey that had been languishing at the back of a cupboard from God knows when and set about knocking back some whiskey and cokes like it was water. She knew her liver would be protesting from the night before but she didn't really care.

At half-past, she decided to leave the apartment and walk to Combeferre's, which was about fifteen minutes away. She didn't care if she got there a bit early. She took the bottle of whiskey with her and made sure to have a swig before she left the apartment.

Anything to block things out again.

OOO

To say Combeferre looked surprised to see her when he opened the door would have been an understatement.

"You do realise no one else is getting here for another half-hour or something, right?" he said, stepping aside so she could walk into the flat.

"Yeah, but I was at home and I was bored," she said, shrugging out of her leather jacket.

"Let me take that," he said, removing it from her hands before she could protest.

"Actually, can you give that back a sec?" He obliged, and she fished her packet of cigarettes and lighter out of its pockets. "Don't worry, I smoked one on the way," she added, dropping them into her handbag.

The door to the bathroom opened and Courfeyrac stepped out, wearing nothing but a towel around his hips.

"Hey, Éponine," he said, reaching up to scratch his wet hair. "How was your meal with darling Cosette?"

"Eh." Éponine held one hand up and rocked it from side to side. "I need a bit more booze in me before I can answer that question."

He winked at her. "I like your talking. But I'm naked right now, so let me put some clothes on…"

Now she waved her hand in a dismissive way. "Go on."

He disappeared into what had always been known to Éponine as the spare room. Combeferre took her coat back off her and deposited it in his own room. By the time he came back, she had her shoes off and lying on the floor and she was sat cross-legged on the sofa. Her bottle of whiskey was on the coffee table.

"Do you want a glass for that?" Combeferre asked.

"I know I'm not the classiest girl in the world but a glass would be appreciated," she said, twisting her neck to look at him.

He fetched one from the kitchen, and brought back a bottle of coke as well. "Have you already started drinking?" he said, sitting down on the sofa next to her. She accepted the glass, which she put on the table, as well as the bottle, which she tucked between her legs.

"I had a glass of wine at the restaurant and carried on drinking at mine," she said, unscrewing the cap.

"How was the meal?" Combeferre said, sounding a little uncertain as to whether she would answer or not.

"The restaurant was good. The food was lovely. Cosette was sweet and yeah, maybe she talks too much but she was really pleasant and smiled a lot and you know, she paid for the whole thing and a taxi home. I also think she was more nervous than I was, judging by the way she inhaled more or less an entire bottle of wine to herself. I hated it."

Combeferre raised his eyebrows. "Hated it?" he repeated. "It sounds like you had a good time to me."

"I did eventually, when I paid attention to what was going on." Éponine tipped the bottle up and poured coke into the glass, followed quickly by a generous slosh of whiskey. "But that's the point. I don't _want _to."

"I get it." Combeferre nodded his head slowly. "You wanted to hate it and you want to hate Cosette, right?"

"You hit the nail on the head, _monsieur_," Éponine said, toasting him with her drink.

"Well, you've drank enough to admit that," Combeferre murmured under his breath. Then, louder, he said, "Would you go out with her again, if Marius asked?"

She swallowed a swig of her drink and then smacked her lips. "No," she said. "But I might if Cosette asked."

"That's progress, I suppose."

Combeferre watched the woman before him. He'd thought she'd looked beautiful when she walked into the café, but he found he much preferred this slightly more casual Éponine, with her bare feet and the fact her hair was coming loose from the bun it had been clipped up into earlier on in the evening. It was now falling in soft waves around her face. He leaned backwards and put his elbow onto the back of the sofa, resting his chin on his closed fist.

"I'm glad you're back again, Éponine," he said. "It was strange, not having you around for those few weeks."

She'd been staring at her glass of whiskey and coke as he spoke, but she glanced at him once he had gone silent. "Thanks, I suppose," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "It's nice to see everyone again."

She unfolded her legs from beneath her, her skirt riding up and showing more thigh than his eyes knew what to deal with. Instead he looked up at the ceiling until she had righted herself, but then she was stretching her legs out and pointing her toes, and he couldn't help but steal a glance.

Thankfully, that was when Courfeyrac burst out of his bedroom carrying a mass of bottles. "A little help, 'Ferre," he said, as one of the bottles began to slip from his grasp.

Combeferre jumped off the sofa to take some of the bottles away from his friend. "Have enough alcohol?" he said, carrying them over to the kitchen table.

"Grantaire is coming," Courfeyrac retorted, "And Bahorel is as well. Remember what happened last time when we ran out? And those two went running off searching for more?" He put his collection of bottles with Combeferre's. Then he turned to face Eponine, planting his hands on his hips. "_Two days_, it took us to find them. _Two days_."

She shook her head and drained her glass. "Yeah, I remember Grantaire mentioning that story."

"Two days," Courfeyrac repeated, lowering his voice until it was no more than a whisper.

Éponine wrinkled her nose. She'd forgotten that Courfeyrac had a flair for the dramatics at times.

Behind Courfeyrac, Combeferre rolled his eyes. "Yes, Courf, we get the point," he said. "God, I hope no one trashes the flat tonight," he added in a mutter.

"That was one time," Courfeyrac said, snagging one of the bottles and then rooting in one of the kitchen drawers. He fished out a bottle opener and waved it in Combeferre's general direction. "And this isn't a house party. It's pre-drinks."

Éponine giggled into her drink.

Combeferre sighed, but there was a smile on his face and it was in his eyes and Éponine began to look forward to the rest of the evening.

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews/alerts/favourites, I really appreciate it :)**


	5. Free Agent

**_Chapter Five_**

**Free Agent**

The rest of their little group poured into Combeferre's flat not long after ten.

Courfeyrac and Jehan spent about twenty minutes squabbling over music choices before Bahorel took over and put on a classic rock compilation. Enjolras was (for once) present, but was refusing to drink no matter how much Grantaire tried to force a bottle of beer into Enjolras' hands. Feuilly and Combeferre were engaged in a conversation about politics in the corner, whilst Bossuet, Musichetta and Joly were squashed together on one sofa, giggling together.

Éponine observed all of this from her spot on the sofa, feeling content and happy that she wasn't sat alone in her apartment watching some sappy romantic film for once.

The drinks went down easier and easier, and the volume levels of the music were cranked up as loud as they could go. The dancing started with Musichetta and Éponine, and ended with all of them jumping on the sofas, singing along to Def Leppard's _Pour Some Sugar on Me_. Enjolras was amused enough, being the only sober one in the room, to film it on his phone.

Éponine turned on the sofa, her foot straying too close to the edge. She slipped off, the soles of her bare feet having no grip on the worn corduroy fabric. She nearly fell, her arms beginning to flail, but an arm wound around her waist. She was hauled against a body, and looked up into the face of Combeferre. His light brown hair was more than a little mussed, and his glasses were a little skewed on his nose. She wasn't sure how much he'd had to drink but judging by the slightly silly grin on his face it was a lot.

Amused, she reached up to adjust his glasses. "Thanks for not letting me fall," she called, over the top of the music.

"No problem. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself," he said. His voice was very quiet, but she could still hear every word that he said.

Before she could respond, Musichetta was flinging her arm around Éponine's neck and shouting the chorus down her ear.

OOO

Corinth was packed. There were just simply more people there than there had been the night before. As usual on a night out with her friends, the group dispersed quite quickly once they were in the club and Éponine was left with Musichetta and Bossuet at the bar, ordering shots.

"How are you feeling?" Musichetta shouted over the music, handing Éponine one of the little plastic shot glasses.

"I'm fine," Éponine shouted back. "Stop asking. I'm trying to have a good time here!"

Musichetta stuck her tongue out and rolled her eyes, passing the third shot glass to Bossuet. "On the count of three," she said, but Éponine didn't wait for her to even start counting; she slung back the shot, wincing slightly. She hadn't asked Musichetta what she was buying, but she knew it was something cheap, a bit too sweet and a bit too sour that tasted vaguely of apples. Not entirely unpleasant, but the sourness made her shudder a little.

She wrinkled her nose and smacked the little plastic shot glass down onto the bar top. The sides cracked a little with the pressure of her grip.

Bossuet slapped Musichetta on the back. "See you both in a bit," he said, disappearing into the crowds. Éponine lost sight of his bald head pretty quickly as the other patrons swallowed him up.

She sighed and rested her elbows on the bar, pulling a face when she realised she'd just leaned in some spilt drink. She adjusted her position a little to get her bare skin out of the puddle, regretting the fact she'd left her leather jacket in Combeferre's room.

She managed to get the bartender's attention and order herself a Bacardi and coke. She fumbled in her handbag for some loose change to pay for it.

Musichetta joined her leaning on the bar, pressing their arms together. "Combeferre keeps on eyeing you up," she said into Éponine's ear.

Éponine scowled at her friend, shuffling from foot to foot. "Don't be stupid."

"He _does_," Musichetta insisted. "This isn't coming from me, by the way. Joly noticed it first in the café, and then _Courfeyrac _said the same when you two were alone in his flat…" She dug her elbow into Éponine's ribs and Éponine squirmed away.

"You make that sound much worse than it was," Éponine retorted. "We were talking."

"And Combeferre was looking," Musichetta sang.

"What does that even mean?" Éponine demanded, handing her money over to the bartender and taking a sip of her drink.

"You know what it means."

"I'm looking at you right now and it doesn't mean anything," Éponine said. "We were talking. Of course he was looking at me."

"Okay, sure, but when you were dancing Combeferre sure seemed to have a keen interest in your ass, I'm just saying," Musichetta snorted.

The bartender handed Éponine what little change she was owed and she dropped it, loose, into her handbag. "Shut up," she said, knocking back a huge mouthful of her drink.

"Is Éponine _embarrassed_?" Musichetta teased, putting her hands on Éponine's waist as they fought their way to the dance floor.

Was she? No, she wasn't. It was just Combeferre; quiet, sensible, reliable Combeferre, with his glasses and shirts and reasonable arguments. What interest would he have in her?

"Give it a rest, Musichetta," Éponine said, perhaps a little sharper than she intended. She growled at someone who knocked into her and caused some of her drink to slosh over the side of her glass, before shoving past them. She could see Courfeyrac with Grantaire, Combeferre and Jehan on the other side of the dance floor. Some silly dance routine to _Call Me Maybe _seemed to have been created by the four of them, although Jehan was a little behind and was continuously doing jazz hands.

Éponine couldn't help but laugh a little bit at the sight of them. Courfeyrac caught her eye and gestured wildly for her to come over.

She did, but the dance they were doing she found much more amusing to watch than to participate in. Instead, her and Musichetta danced together next to them.

Bahorel, Feuilly and Enjolras appeared a few moments later, closely followed by Joly and Bossuet. Naturally, Joly wanted to dance with his girlfriend and Éponine knew that was her cue to dance with the boys as the couple plastered their bodies together.

Éponine gravitated immediately towards her regular dancing partner Grantaire, who did nothing more than drink the rest of her Bacardi and coke before swaggering off to chat up some redheaded girl who had been hovering nearby. Éponine personally thought the girl seemed to be staring pointedly at Courfeyrac, but it wasn't her place to get involved.

Instead, she tossed her now empty plastic cup over her shoulder and turned towards the rest of the group who were still dancing away.

Another dance routine, she observed, only this time, Combeferre wasn't joining in.

He caught her eye and smiled at her – a proper grin, teeth and all. She realised that he was holding out one hand towards her. For a few moments she stared at his proffered hand, until Bossuet bumped into her and shoved her forwards. Combeferre grabbed her hand without waiting for her to make the first move, if only to stop her falling if nothing else.

"You really need to stop falling around me," Combeferre said, leaning in close to say the words right in her ear.

"Yeah, sorry about that," she said, giggling when he began to dance, still holding on to her hand. He reached out for her other hand and she let him. She began to move her body to the music but she couldn't help but laugh when Combeferre was swinging her arms around and twirling her.

It was nice, she thought to herself. A nice change than dancing with Grantaire, who was all clingy and grinding which she didn't usually mind. But this was silly and fun and light hearted, and his hands were warm, big and strong around hers.

He spun her again, this time so her back was against his front. His arms wound around her from behind, hands linking together over her tummy.

For a few seconds, she wasn't sure what to do. She danced with Grantaire like this all the time, and had danced with Courfeyrac, Jehan and Bahorel in the same way, but never with Combeferre. She'd never even seen him approach a girl in a club before.

He must have thought he'd made her feel uncomfortable because his grip on her loosened a little and he began to move away.

Before she could really question her own actions, she'd clapped her hands over his to keep him in place.

She glanced up at him and smiled, before rolling her hips, grinding her bottom against his crotch. She couldn't help it if her smile grew a bit bigger at the look of surprise on his face, but what else should he expect? It's only how she'd dance with any of the others.

OOO

So, he had Éponine in his arms, but he wasn't quite sure how to proceed. He wasn't drunk enough to dance with her like this – why hadn't he just kept on with the spinning and the silly dance moves? She'd seemed to like that.

But judging the flirty smile on her face she was also liking this and _Jesus Christ_ what was she doing with her hips?

He took a deep breath. He'd just have to channel any one of his friends (okay, maybe not Enjolras) to get through this.

OOO

Combeferre wasn't sure how long they'd been dancing for but at some point she'd turned around and had her arms looped around his neck. He had his hands on her hips and there was barely an inch between their bodies.

After the initial awkwardness he'd felt, he now felt surprised at how comfortable he was with this. Maybe part of the ease he felt was to do with the fact none of their friends had noticed (or decided to comment on, at least) the dancing going on between Éponine and Combeferre.

The dancing ended abruptly once a song was over; she unhooked her arms from his neck and stepped back.

"Cigarette," she shouted, gesturing at her handbag. He nodded to show he understood, rubbing the back of his neck as he watched her battle her way through the crowds.

She'd just disappeared when an arm was flung over his shoulders. "Don't think we didn't notice," Courfeyrac was saying. Jehan appeared on Combeferre's other side.

"Notice?" Combeferre said, feeling a little awkward.

"The dancing," Jehan chipped in.

"The lingering looks," Courfeyrac added, batting his eyelashes and pressing his cheek against Combeferre's shoulder.

"Get off," Combeferre muttered, shoving at his flatmate. "And it was no different to her dancing with you or Grantaire or –"

Jehan rested his chin on Combeferre's other shoulder. "The difference is…" he began.

"None of us want to fuck her," Courfeyrac finished. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I would in a heartbeat –"

Combeferre stepped away. "Don't be so crude," he said, voice a little sharp.

"Hey, she's a free agent now," Bahorel said, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. He clapped Combeferre on the shoulder. "No Pontmercy to stand in your way."

"What is this?" Combeferre couldn't help but sound a little bit exasperated.

"Just a helping hand," Bahorel said, giving him a shove. "Go find her."

He felt more than a little bit bewildered as he made his way through the throngs of people.

Had he really been _that _obvious all this time? How long had they noticed?

He climbed the stairs, passed the bouncers, and then he was outside. There were quite a few people outside smoking or chatting or whatever, but he couldn't see Éponine.

A little worried, he walked further away from the club itself and stepped into the road, scanning the area. His eyes fell on a hunched figure a few feet up the road, sat on the kerb. It was Éponine, he knew instantly. His heart dropped into his stomach as he took in the way she was sat.

She'd clearly removed all of the clips in her hair as it now fell in a thick curtain over her face. Her face was pressed into her lap and her arms were wrapped around her head, crossing at the elbows. A cigarette hung between her fingers, smoke spiralling up into the air.

Combeferre hurried over to her, all thoughts of the conversation with his friends flying out of his brain. "Éponine?" he called, finally reaching her. He realised as she looked up at him that he was looming over her and quickly lowered himself so he was sat down. The cold concrete beneath him managed to seep through his jeans. He felt a bit awkward with the length of his legs and the height of the kerb – it left his knees somewhere near his ears so he stretched them out instead.

He looked back at her and his gut wrenched. Her face was shining and wet with tears, and her eyes looked far too big for her face.

"Sorry," she said, voice thick. "Sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

She raked a hand through her hair. It was the one holding the cigarette and ash fluttered down into her hair. He reached out and gently removed the cigarette from her fingers and stubbed it out onto the pavement.

She didn't seem to care, covering her face with her hands. When she pulled them away, her face looked a little drier even if her eyes were still glittering too much. "I just got thinking, that's all," she said.

He wanted to know what about, but he also didn't want to pry. Instead, he fiddled with a loose thread on the buttonhole of his shirt.

"Cosette," Éponine continued. "She's…I understand why Marius wanted her, you know?"

Combeferre raised his eyebrows. He wasn't particularly surprised about the direction the conversation had gone in. "Right," he said, slowly.

"She's so nice. And pretty. And sweet. And what am I?" She stared up at the sky, her tongue sticking out between her teeth. "I'm working in a shitty supermarket and I swear too much and I smoke and I probably drink too much…"

"Hey." Combeferre bumped her gently with his shoulder. "None of those things make you less of a person, Éponine. You shouldn't compare yourself to Cosette, anyway."

She blinked at him owlish manner.

"And," Combeferre carried on, feeling slightly unsure of himself, "You're pretty, too. Just as pretty as Cosette."

She snorted. "You don't have to lie to me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Why would I lie about that?" he said. "Éponine, you're beautiful."

She didn't snort this time, but she still didn't look convinced.

"Look, I've never commented on your relationship with Marius but…" Combeferre wrapped one hand around his wrist. "I think – I think Marius was an idiot for breaking up with you."

She sniffed. "He's not an idiot," she muttered. "I'd pick Cosette."

"Well, I wouldn't pick Cosette," Combeferre retorted. "She's a nice girl and everything but I don't understand the appeal myself."

Éponine raised her eyebrows. "I know you wear glasses, but you're not blind, are you?"

Combeferre rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not, and I've already told you what I think." He put his hand on her shoulder.

Éponine's eyes flickered down to his hand, then back up to his face.

He couldn't help but notice that their faces were very close now. If he was Jehan, he'd probably be counting her eyelashes right now or the tears that still clung to them. But he wasn't. His mind was running too fast, running over everything, his friends words coming back to him.

_She's a free agent now…No Pontmercy to stand in your way…Just a helping hand…Go find her…The lingering looks…The difference is…None of us want to fuck her_…

That last thought almost made Combeferre pull a face until he remembered how close he was to Éponine.

He had to be honest with himself.

He'd wanted this chance for a long time.

He knew he hadn't had a chance when he'd first met Éponine. She was too wrapped up in Marius, too wrapped up in the fantasy she had of a future with him.

But Bahorel was right. She was single. She was available. And she wasn't moving away from him.

Before he could second guess his thought process, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. To his surprise, she responded immediately, almost as if she'd been anticipating it…Dare he believe wanted him to kiss her?

Her hand reached up and pressed against the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her. Her fingers tangled into the hair falling just above his collar.

A minute later, she pushed him away, and looked at him with slightly hooded eyes. He opened his mouth, intending to say something, but she cut him off by brushing a softer kiss against his mouth. Then she pulled away, her fingertips stroking his hair.

"So," she breathed, cocking her head to one side. "Your place or mine?"

OOO

They'd decided on his, in the end, because it was nearer.

It was a blur of hands and skin and teeth, frantic and fast and _fuck_, Éponine was surprised. She'd never thought that this would happen, not with Combeferre; she'd never looked at him and seen him as anything other than a friend before. But that wasn't what surprised her the most.

Who'd ever thought quiet, sensible, reliable Combeferre would be good in bed?

Afterwards, she lay there, staring up at the ceiling, her mind running over what had just happened. Beside her, he had fallen asleep, face down in the pillow.

She rolled over to look at him, a sigh escaping her lips. She sat up and swung her legs out of the bed and made her way around Combeferre's room, plucking her clothes from the floor. She dressed as quietly as she could. Finally she found her leather jacket where it had been shoved off the bed when they'd fallen onto the bed.

She shrugged it on and grabbed her bag from where it was sat on the floor. She slung it over her shoulder, and glanced behind her towards the bed.

Combeferre was awake, and had managed to sit up a little. He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. "'Ponine?" he muttered, voice sounding groggy.

"Go back to sleep," she murmured, opening the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The last thing she saw as she closed the door behind her was Combeferre flopping back down onto the bed.

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews/alerts/favourites, I really appreciate it :)**


	6. The Arrangement

**_Chapter Six_**

**The Arrangement**

Once she was lying back in her own bed, safely clad in her pyjamas, Éponine thought back to the first time she met Marius' friends. It was an occasion she could remember very, very clearly. Funnily enough, the first one she had ever spoken to was Combeferre.

Marius had asked her to meet him in the Café Musain before they went to see a film together. She'd been uncertain as to what would happen when she got there, although she'd hoped they would literally say hello and then go to the cinema straight away.

Unfortunately, she'd got there early (well, it wasn't really that she was early, more that Marius was late). She'd never been to the café before and had ended up sat at a table in the window, texting Musichetta who was very eager to know all the details of the date that hadn't even begun yet.

She'd been trying to read these texts when shouting from the sofas in the corner had got her attention. The sofas were occupied by a group of young men. One of them, a stocky man with dark hair and a scruff of hair on his chin and cheeks, was shouting loudly about _Patria _and _marble _and _you really need to get laid_, whilst the rest of his friends seemed to range from telling him to be quiet or laughing at him. She'd paused in her texting to observe them a little closer, noticing that one of the men – a very pretty one with curly blond hair – was getting more and more red in the face as the dark-haired one continued his bellowing.

That was when the door had opened and Marius had walked in. She'd begun to stand up when the dark-haired man from the sofas began to change his target.

"Marius!" he boomed, opening his arms wide. "Marius! Where's your girl?"

Éponine sat back down, feeling a blush spread over her cheeks. She hadn't realised that anyone he knew would be there other than her. In those few moments, she actually considered tailing it out of the café.

"I'm meeting her here," Marius said, his steps slowing. "I'm late, actually, she should be here already…"

He glanced around the café and his eyes fell on her. She felt the warmth of his gaze as well as the needles of every one of his friends' gaze as they looked at her.

"Éponine!" Marius said brightly. "Hey! I didn't see you there!"

He bounded over, somewhat resembling an excited puppy, and grabbed her hands to pull her up out of her seat. He embraced her tightly, and then turned back towards his friends, keeping her tucked under one arm.

"Guys, this is Éponine," he said, leading her over to the sofas. He went around all of his friends and introduced them all.

"Marius," the pretty blond one said, standing up. He'd been introduced to her as Enjolras, and the angry red had already faded from his cheeks now the dark-haired one had stopped his teasing. "I needed to speak to you about something – do you have a minute?"

Marius glanced down at her. "I won't be long," he said, before removing his arm from her shoulder and walking away from the sofas with Enjolras by his side.

Éponine watched the two men as they stood at the counter, Enjolras apparently ordering himself a cup of coffee.

The rest of his friends seemed to have moved on from gawping at her to talk amongst themselves; the main topic of conversation seemed to be telling the dark-haired one, Grantaire, to not be so aggressive in his teasing.

She stood beside them, feeling incredibly awkward, pulling the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands.

"Are you okay?" she heard one of them ask, and looked down into a pair of kind blue eyes shielded by spectacles. He was quite a tall man, with short, shiny brown hair and a kind smile, wearing a shirt and jeans. There was a textbook open on his lap and a biro in his hand.

"Yeah," she muttered. "Just, you know, waiting."

The man – at the time she couldn't quite remember his name – followed her line of sight towards Marius. "You'd better sit down," he suggested. "Enjolras doesn't mean to but he can talk on a bit."

He edged up on the sofa to give her a spot to sit on. She squeezed in out of politeness, but sat on the edge of her seat, elbows resting on her knees.

"I'm Combeferre, by the way," he re-introduced himself. "There's a lot of us and I'd be amazed if you remembered all of our names so soon."

She managed a smile. "Uh, what, what are they talking about?" she asked, raking a hand through her hair.

"Marius was supposed to be organising the printing of some pamphlets for Enjolras, _but _he hasn't done it yet," Combeferre explained. "He reckoned he could get them done cheaper because he knew the person who owned the printing company."

"Pamphlets?" Éponine echoed.

"Yeah. Enjolras is heading a campaign to get the chancellor of our university to take a pay cut." Combeferre ran a hand through his hair. "He gets paid a ridiculous amount but there have been budget cuts at the university and some staff have been laid off…There's going to be a protest about it in a couple of weeks but Enjolras wants to give the pamphlets a chance to circulate, you know?"

Éponine nodded slowly.

"Are you planning on getting involved?" Combeferre asked.

"Me?" Éponine raised her eyebrows. "No, I'm not a student."

"Ah. Sorry, Marius hasn't told us much about you," Combeferre said. "Although, I don't think you _have _to be a student to get involved."

"I'll have to check my diary," Éponine said, not really relishing the idea of joining a protest with a bunch of strangers. Clearing her throat, she said, "So, are you a law student like Marius?"

"Nope, I'm a medical student," Combeferre answered her. "As is Joly. Basically, the rest of them are law students apart from Jehan who is doing his master's in Creative Writing. Oh, and Feuilly and Grantaire are both in design – Feuilly does websites and coding or something or other and Grantaire does graphics." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I don't really understand what they're on about half the time, if I'm being honest."

Before any more could be said, Marius was walking back over. "Sorry about that," he said. "Do you want to get going…?"

And that was how Éponine ended up meeting Marius' friends.

This memory of Éponine's drew to a close, and she rolled over, squeezing her eyes shut even tighter.

In her drunken haze, Éponine wondered whether she'd pursued the wrong man all along.

OOO

On the Sunday after their celebratory trip to Corinth, Combeferre woke up with the hangover from hell. That had always been Combeferre's problem – the hangover. He didn't actually drink that much on a night out, but what he did drink knocked him for six the following day.

He flung an arm over his eyes as he rolled onto his back. Memories flashed through his brain as his head throbbed in protest of the light streaming through the curtains.

He remembered the drinks, and he remembered dancing on a sofa whilst singing at the top of his voice (on second thoughts, maybe he _had _drunk a lot the night before); he remembered small, delicate hands in his and silly dancing and a very, very happy smile belonging to a certain pretty, dark-haired girl. And he remembered sitting on a cold pavement and stubbing out Éponine's cigarette and telling her she was beautiful and kissing her.

Then there was the sex.

The sex, he thought, with some feeling almost akin to horror washing over him.

He sat up, too abruptly considering his delicate state; he ended up flopping back down onto the bed.

_He'd had sex with Éponine Thenardier. Éponine _fucking _Thenardier_.

Combeferre groaned once more.

OOO

It was Monday when Éponine next Combeferre.

She spent Sunday lazing around her flat. She completed her work on Musichetta's tiger earrings, watched some films, ordered a takeaway. She received messages from both Musichetta and Grantaire, but neither of them mentioned Combeferre so she assumed he hadn't told anyone and she left it at that.

She finished work on Monday at six o'clock and headed straight over to the Café Musain. She found Combeferre and Joly sat on the sofas, poring over textbooks. Joly looked up as she walked over, but Combeferre stared fixedly down at the book in his lap.

She couldn't help the fact that the corners of her mouth quirked upwards when she saw the faintest hints of a blush over Combeferre's cheeks. He hadn't been so easily embarrassed on Saturday night, she mused.

"Hey," she greeted them. "Where's everyone else?"

"On their way, probably," Joly replied. "Oh, and Enjolras has gone to meet with some town official or other about that fundraiser he's running this weekend."

"Which fundraiser's this, then?" Éponine asked, lowering her bag onto the sofa and dropping down into the seat. After her shift, the soft, bouncy cushions felt like heaven on her aching muscles and her legs had never been so relieved to have the weight taken off them. The only thing that could possibly have felt nicer at that point was a nice hot bath, she thought wistfully. Her small bathroom only had a shower cubicle.

Sighing to herself, she dragged off her plain black work shoes without bothering to unlace them properly and let them drop to the floor. She didn't particularly care if she was in public – she just wanted to be comfortable. She stretched languorously before tucking her legs beneath herself.

"Homeless charity," Combeferre responded, voice more or less a mutter. "It's a sponsored cycling event."

"Cycling?" Éponine forked her hand through her hair and began to twist it around her fingers.

"Enjolras has a group of volunteers who are being sponsored to cycle on exercise bikes," Combeferre explained, leaning back in the sofa. He wasn't quite meeting her eye. "I _think_ Courfeyrac's doing it. The rest of us are just, you know, hovering and handing out leaflets."

"Sounds like a lot of fun." Éponine shrugged. "I get lost with Enjolras sometimes. I thought he was organising a sit-in protest at the university?"

Joly looked amused. "He is."

"He's organising two, actually," Combeferre said. "One about the staff cuts and one on behalf of the LGBT Society. He's also setting his sights on protesting the closure of the woman's shelter a few blocks away."

"How the hell does he find time to study?" Éponine was now braiding her hair into a loose plait.

"It's Enjolras," Joly said. "We're not entirely sure he's human half the time." He glanced down at his wrist and cleared his throat. "I'm picking Musichetta up in fifteen minutes," he said, more to himself than anyone else. He hefted his textbook shut and slid it into his bag. He drained the rest of his coffee before standing. "I'll see you both later."

Once Joly had gone, silence fell.

Éponine cocked her head to one side and stared at Combeferre. The man was back to staring at his textbook, although his eyes weren't moving so she wasn't entirely sure he was actually reading anything.

A couple of minutes passed. Fed up, Éponine said, "Are you going to talk to me?"

Combeferre's head shot up, a surprised expression on his face. "Huh?"

"You're ignoring me," she clarified. "And I don't like it."

"I'm not ignoring you," Combeferre denied, shutting his textbook with a dull thud.

She raised her eyebrows.

"Look." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. She followed the movement. "I don't know how this works."

"How what works?" Éponine's eyebrows lowered as she frowned.

"_This_." He gestured between them. "Éponine, I don't…"

Realisation dawned on her. "You don't do one night stands?" she guessed.

He winced a little. "Something like that. Shit, Éponine, I didn't…"

For some reason, Éponine felt her stomach sink at those words. _He regrets it_, she thought to herself.

"I didn't mean to take advantage of you," he finished. "You weren't happy – you were in a vulnerable place – and I took advantage. I shouldn't have kissed you when you were like that –"

Éponine couldn't help the bark of laughter that issued forth. "You didn't take advantage," she assured him. "Yeah, you kissed me, but it was me that suggested we went somewhere else. Combeferre, don't you dare feel guilty about anything. If I thought you'd taken advantage of me I'd have fucking told you by now."

Silence fell once more. Neither of them knew what to say to the other.

"Do you regret it?" Éponine asked suddenly.

"What?" It was Combeferre's eyebrow's turn to shoot up into his hairline. "No, no, I don't _regret – it_, I regret…Oh, you know."

Éponine _did_ know, because she had her suspicions that Combeferre's gentlemanly nature was beginning to show through.

"I'm a big girl, Combeferre. I knew what I was doing," she said. "And you know what? I don't regret it either," she added. "For the record."

OOO

Combeferre let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "You didn't?" he asked. He didn't want to sound too disbelieving.

He wasn't quite sure what had come over him. Whilst he wasn't the most extroverted of his group of friends, he was by no means the shyest either. Sure, he'd never been particularly good with the opposite sex but he was fairly certain he'd never _blushed_ before.

But, hell, Éponine says she doesn't regret sleeping with him and his face goes all hot and he was fairly certain he probably resembled a tomato.

"What was there to regret?" Éponine wondered. She looked tired, he couldn't help but observe; there were bags under her eyes and every so often, she'd pause in braiding her hair to rub at the side of her neck where it turned into shoulder.

His face only grew hotter when he remembered pressing soft, gentle kisses to that very spot.

"Well, nothing," he said, throwing that thought away from his mind. "We're just, you know, two consenting adults…"

"Who had a one night stand," Éponine finished for him.

"Yep," he confirmed.

He hated those three little words, though. He didn't _want_ it to be a one night stand, some little gremlin at the back of his mind was declaring.

Éponine began to adjust in her seat, stretching out her legs before her. She was wearing mismatching socks, he noticed; one was plain black, whilst the other was rainbow stripes, poking out from beneath her slightly too-big work trousers. He looked up from her feet as she yawned and crossed one of her legs over the other.

"Have you told anyone?" she said, through her yawn.

He shook his head. He hadn't. Courfeyrac had asked what had happened when he left the club, but he'd just said Éponine had wanted to go home so he'd offered to go halves on a taxi. He wasn't entirely sure that his flatmate had believed him, but he wasn't going to push it. Combeferre didn't want the teasing that would probably ensue, and he sure as hell didn't want Éponine to suffer it alongside him. Although their friends meant well, a couple of them could be pretty merciless when it came to teasing on matters like that. Especially considering Combeferre hadn't dated or slept with anyone in a couple of years.

It had been one of the things that Courfeyrac liked to bug him over. Courfeyrac himself was always seeing _someone_, always taking some girl home on a night out. With the exception of Enjolras, who was a law unto himself, the rest of their friends were either the same as Courfeyrac, in long-term relationships like Joly, or had the occasional short-term fling. Combeferre was the sole exception to this, different to Enjolras because he'd dated in the past and was capable of feeling physical attraction towards other people.

Combeferre couldn't help but smile as he imagined the expressions on his various friends' faces if they found out he'd slept with Éponine. They'd be surprised – sure, they might have pushed him to go for it, but he knew that they were probably doubtful he'd act on any feelings he may have for the girl.

"Combeferre?"

Éponine's voice cut into his reverie and he shook his head. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

She let out a puff of breath; one of her hands was wrapped around her left ankle, and her thumb was tapping on the top of her foot. "I asked if you wanted to make it a regular thing," she said bluntly.

He stared at her for a few moments.

"Are you asking me out?" he said.

"Not – not in a – do you want to be my boyfriend way, no," Éponine said slowly. "In a…" Her other hand gesticulated in a vague manner. "I don't _want_ to be vulgar about this."

Combeferre pushed his hand through his hair. "I _think_ I know what you're getting at."

"Oh, good." She did look oddly pleased at that. "Because I was thinking things could have got a little awkward."

He considered what she was asking of him. She didn't want him to be her boyfriend. That had the potential to feel a little bit like a kick in the teeth, but she _was_ also offering him sex on a regular basis. Presumably without emotions attached.

He wasn't sure if _he_ could do the no emotions part, but it looked like the best offer he was going to get out of Éponine.

In a way, he felt a bit bewildered by the suggestion and found himself nodding his head slowly.

A grin stretched across Éponine's face. She reached down and began to shove her feet into her shoes, once more not bothering to unlace them. "Do you have a bath?" she said, casually.

Combeferre nodded.

"And where's Courfeyrac?" Éponine continued.

"He's going to a gig tonight," Combeferre said. "With Bahorel and Jehan. I think they're at Jehan's right now."

"So your flat is empty?"

He nodded again.

She put her bag over her shoulder and her grin all of a sudden turned rather playful. "Do you want to head back to yours now?"

"_Now_?" Combeferre repeated.

"Yes, now." Éponine cocked her head to one side and her eyebrows quirked upwards.

Hell, it would have been rude not to accept the offer.

OOO

Much, much later, back in his flat, Combeferre watched Éponine button up her plain black work shirt and stifle a yawn. He remained in bed, the sheets covering his lower body, part of him wanting to ask her to stay just a little bit longer.

"Do you want me to drive you home?" he offered instead.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "You can do, but I don't mind walking."

He frowned. "It's getting dark outside."

"Nice observation skills." She stood up and stooped to pick up her underwear, sliding it up her legs in one swift movement before searching for her trousers.

Combeferre rolled his eyes and swung his legs out of the bed. He began his own search for his clothes, hunting down his boxers to the chair and his jeans in a heap near the door.

"So," he said, trying to keep his voice as casual as he possibly could, "You wanted to make this a regular thing." He used her words to describe the arrangement rather than find an alternative.

"If that's all right with you," she responded, as if they were discussing his offer of a lift home rather than negotiating becoming fuck buddies.

He shrugged, fiddling with his shirt so it was no longer inside out. "That's more than fine with me," he said, only half telling the truth.

She didn't speak as she buttoned her trousers; neither did she respond as she disappeared through the bedroom door into his living area. He followed her.

She retrieved her jacket from where it was hanging over the back of his sofa.

"Thanks for letting me use your bath," she said, her eyes twinkling. She shrugged on the jacket.

"You can use it any time," he promised her, grabbing her bag from where she had dumped it outside the bathroom door. He swung it towards her and she took it off him, slinging it over her shoulder.

Éponine gave a tiny roll of her eyes. "That's the kindest offer anyone's made me all year," she teased.

He found his car keys on the sideboard next to the front door, which he then opened and stood in the doorway. "Let's get you home," he said.

She passed him on her way out, but paused on the threshold, like he had.

He looked down at her as she stood there, staring up at him with those impossibly wide brown eyes. She rose up onto the tips of her toes and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth.

It was a very brief kiss and then she had pulled away, lowering back down until she was flat-footed on the floor. "Thank you," she said; nothing more than that.

It was strange, in a way; it was just two short words and yet Combeferre understood exactly what she meant.

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews/alerts/favourites, I really, really, really do appreciate it :) I'll try to get the next chapter up a little faster!**


	7. Just a Little Crush

**_Chapter Seven_**

**Just a Little Crush**

Combeferre could remember the first time he met Éponine Thenardier very clearly.

He'd spotted her, sat alone in the Café Musain, before he even knew who she was. Grantaire was on one of his rants where he talked shit for a good half hour; Combeferre had never been very good at listening to those rants so he had zoned out. He remembered thinking he wanted Grantaire to be quiet when his eyes fell on the brunette sat near the front of the café.

She was hunched over a mobile phone, her dark brown hair falling around her face and shoulders. Her face was heart-shaped, her eyes large and currently narrowed as her brow furrowed. He assumed her confusion was to do with something she was reading on her phone, and as he watched her she bit down on her lower lip. She was close enough for him to tell she was very pretty and in that second, a part of him wished it were her teeth sinking into the flesh of her plump mouth.

Just as Grantaire's ranting had escalated to shouting, Marius burst into the café. Combeferre supposed this was a good thing as he could see that Enjolras, the subject of Grantaire's current rant, was about thirty seconds away from snapping and potentially punching Grantaire in the face.

Marius' arrival took Grantaire's attention, and Combeferre felt himself stop focusing on the young girl in the corner and re-enter his friends' conversation. Combeferre himself was surprised to see Marius. He knew that Marius was seeing someone that night – a girl he'd ran into a few days earlier. He'd told them all about it, having been quite excited at the meeting. She'd been a complete state, sobbing on the street, having had a terrible day. Marius had taken pity on her, and they'd ended up exchanging numbers.

Combeferre was used to Marius' infatuations with girls. It happened quite often. Combeferre could acknowledge that Marius was a good looking man, and although he was slightly dafter than some of his friends, he'd never seen to have much trouble in attracting the women. So he'd assumed that the girl he was seeing tonight was just another one of Marius' infatuations.

He'd been surprised when Marius had proceeded to spot the brunette in the corner and introduce her as his friend Éponine.

She stood up and Combeferre could survey her properly. From his observance of her, she looked nothing like Marius' usual type. Marius' usual type was curvy and fair with light eyes and a huge smile. They were usually all flowery, sweet and gentle.

This girl was slim with an athletic figure; skinny, but strong, was the best way he could think to describe it. She didn't have a flat chest by any stretch of the imagination but curvy she was not. Her skin was tanned, and her clothes were simple – grey jeans, a striped sweater under a leather jacket with a pair of baseball boots on her feet. She was all angles and straight lines, not curves and dots like Marius' usual girls.

Even then, on that first meeting, there was something about Éponine that Combeferre had been attracted to. Combeferre didn't think he had a type – not personally, anyway, although Courfeyrac insisted Combeferre was only interested in plain girls with glasses. Combeferre didn't see anything wrong with that 'type', although he wasn't sure it was his (his last girlfriend had been a bassist in a punk band with a passion for protests, and she'd had bright blue hair and a tattoo of a dragon snaking up one arm; he'd quite liked her, as well, until it transpired she was using him to get to Enjolras. It hadn't worked out with him).

No, Combeferre didn't think he had a type, but looking at Éponine that day he could have sworn she was it. She dressed simply, was pretty, looked tough, but there was something hopeful in her expression when she looked at Marius that betrayed a vulnerability he found quite endearing.

But he pushed those feelings down because it was _Marius_ she was looking at like that, not him.

He could see that he wasn't the only one in the group who thought Éponine was attractive, either. Courfeyrac was giving her one of his wide, easy grins that had ensnared many a girl, and Grantaire had suddenly become very quiet – and Bahorel was trying his best smouldering look (which never failed to amuse Combeferre, as Bahorel was in reality much more of an explosion than a slow smoulder).

That was why he felt slightly irritated when Marius went to talk to Enjolras. Fair enough, it had been Enjolras to instigate the conversation, but everyone knew that Enjolras could keep talking for what felt like years. It didn't help that the conversation involved a protest.

The young woman clearly felt uncomfortable by the way she hovered next to the sofas. Combeferre watched as she began to play with the sleeves of her sweater, repeatedly pulling them down over her hands. Her nervousness was palpable. Around them, his friends began to stop their staring, despite the occasional quick glance from Bahorel.

Still she stood there, staring at Marius. Combeferre glanced over his shoulder to look at Enjolras and Marius. They were stood at the counter, Enjolras talking with animated hand motions and a serious expression on his face. Marius looked a little vacant, but in no hurry to end the conversation and return to Éponine.

Combeferre felt yet another wave of irritation rise up as he observed this. Who invited a girl out to abandon her to strangers? He wondered whether Marius had even noticed the obvious crush the girl harboured on him. He doubted it. Whilst he was an intelligent man in some respects, Marius was famous in his group of friends for being hopelessly oblivious at times. He was very good at forming affections for girls, but not very good at noticing the occasions where a girl had formed affections for him.

So he tried to be kind to Éponine by talking to her and trying to make her feel at ease. It had been the kindest thing he could think of to do at the time. Over the next few weeks, he'd watched as two things blossomed – Éponine and Marius' relationship, and Éponine's confidence at being able to interact with his large group of friends.

Combeferre wondered when the last time Éponine had been part of a large group of friends was; she occasionally seemed surprised that people liked her. That saddened him because she was definitely a likeable person; she was friendly, easy to talk to, funny…

It wasn't long before Combeferre had to accept he himself had a little crush on Éponine. It was hopeless, he knew, because she had her sights firmly fixed on Marius and he seemed to be reciprocating. When they finally got together at Bahorel's birthday party, he hadn't been surprised, although there'd been an unpleasant feeling in his stomach he imagined to be somewhat similar to being punched.

He didn't know what he expected, though. He'd seen the way Éponine had looked at Marius.

Still, he'd had to leave the party after witnessing them kiss on the edge of the room. He'd found himself sat on the kerb outside the house Bahorel rented with Feuilly, head buried in his hands. His head was swimming – he'd drunk too much – and he felt a bit silly.

He'd felt a hand on his shoulder and someone dropping down onto the pavement next to him. No, two people, one on either side.

He looked up, a bit surprised that anyone had come out. Enjolras was on his left and Courfeyrac on his right.

Neither of them spoke for a bit. Courfeyrac was smiling, and then he nudged Combeferre's shoulder with his. "You okay?" he said.

"I'm fine," Combeferre replied, linking his hands together underneath his chin. He could meet Courfeyrac's eyes, but not Enjolras, who had a far too knowing look in his eyes.

"Come back inside," Courfeyrac suggested. "Jehan's just about to do the birthday cake. Did you see it earlier? It's in the shape of a boxing glove."

Combeferre knew he couldn't miss the birthday cake – not for Bahorel's sake, but for Jehan's. Jehan had probably put his heart and soul into baking and icing the cake, and he knew the writer would want all of his friends to see it.

"I'll be through now," Combeferre said, through a sigh.

There was a little more silence. Combeferre wondered when his two oldest friends were going to leave him alone.

They didn't, of course, because Courfeyrac was Courfeyrac and Enjolras was Enjolras and if it had been either of them sat with his head in his hands Combeferre wouldn't have left them alone either.

Another couple of moments passed before Courfeyrac dropped his head onto Combeferre's shoulder. "Combeferre," he whined. "Can we go in? There's cake and I think Feuilly bought relighting candles. I want to see how wound up Bahorel will get."

"On that note, I hope he doesn't get angry enough to punch the cake," Enjolras murmured under his breath. "No one wants an angry Jehan on their hands."

Courfeyrac got to his feet, patting Combeferre heavily on the shoulder and ambled back inside. Combeferre kept his eyes fixed firmly on the tarmac in front of him.

"It won't last long," Enjolras said suddenly.

"Huh?" Combeferre whipped his head around to stare at his friend.

"Pontmercy and Éponine," Enjolras elaborated. "It won't last long."

"What makes you say that?"

Enjolras sighed, rolling his eyes. "It's _Pontmercy_," he said. "He has the attention span of a goldfish. And Éponine…"

Combeferre couldn't help but feel a tad defensive over Éponine, wondering what Enjolras would dare to say.

"I think Éponine is looking for something in particular," Enjolras said slowly. "I'm just not sure that Pontmercy is _it_."

"And what, you're saying _I'm_ it?" Combeferre asked.

Enjolras stared at him for a couple of minutes, and then shrugged. "I think you're nearer to _it_ than Pontmercy," he said. "If that's any consolation."

It wasn't – not really – but he appreciated Enjolras' attempts to make him feel better, as blunt as they were.

He sighed. "Come on," he muttered. "We don't want to miss the cake."

They didn't miss it; Bahorel was very frustrated by the candles and ended up throwing the candles out of the window one by one. But Combeferre couldn't pay proper attention to it because of the brand new cuddling couple hovering in the corner taking his attention.

It had been times like that, when he felt like someone had grabbed hold of his stomach and was twisting it around their fist, that he wished he'd never met Éponine Thenardier.

OOO

A week went by after the arrangement was formed. During that time, Éponine saw Combeferre another couple of times, both at her apartment. They'd both silently agreed not to tell their friends for the time being; she was sort of dreading their response, in the best possible way.

She avoided telling Musichetta because, despite her friend's teasing on the night in Corinth, she wondered whether she would actually approve of the friends with benefits arrangement they had going on. A part of Éponine had to admit even to herself that it had the potential to be called unhealthy in regards to the fact it was definitely a rebound thing.

Still, she found she enjoyed Combeferre's company and the sex was _definitely _worth it. It was a welcome distraction from the monotony of working in the supermarket, and she liked to think it was giving him a distraction from his studies.

She wasn't letting herself read into it anymore than that. She knew how badly it could work out from the last time she did that.

It was exactly seven days after the arrangement was formed that she got a phone call from Cosette.

"You don't mind me calling, do you?" Cosette said, sounding worried. "Are you busy? I can call back another time…"

"Nope, I'm not busy," Éponine sighed, reaching for the remote so she could pause the film she was watching. It was _The Princess Bride_, which she must have seen hundreds of times before, so it wasn't a big deal. "Go ahead."

"I was wondering if you wanted to go out tomorrow," Cosette continued. "There's a film out I want to go and see but Marius says it's too girly, so I was wondering if you wanted to? We could get dinner afterwards…"

Éponine thought to her plans for the next day. She had a morning shift, but would be free in the afternoon. She could tidy her flat, she thought, casting an eye over the pile of pots by the sink and the heap of dirty clothes in the corner and the stacks of DVDs and books lying haphazardly around.

Or, she could go and socialise. With her ex-boyfriend's girlfriend. Again.

"I'm free in the afternoon," she said, picking at a loose thread on her sock. "If that's okay."

"That's fine," Cosette said brightly. "I was thinking we could go to an early evening showing…Or late afternoon, so we'd be finished in time for tea?"

"I'll leave the finer details up to you," Éponine suggested. "I'm pretty much easy with anything."

"Hang on, I've got the viewing times up on the laptop now." Éponine could hear clicking sounds in the background, a small huffy sigh, and then she could pick out Marius' voice calling something. She heard Cosette's reply clearly, of course, because Cosette didn't bother lowering the phone to respond. "Use the bath bomb I bought the other week…The rose one – I won't be long, Marius, I'll be through in a minute…"

Éponine's stomach twanged at the thought. Were they planning on bathing together? The thought made her feel sick. It was so cutesy and so…_Cosette_.

She realised then that Cosette had been speaking to her and she hadn't even realised.

"Sorry, Cosette, I wasn't paying attention. What did you say?" she cut in.

"I said there's a viewing at half-four," Cosette said. "Ooh, and there's a pizza place next door to the multiplex, I think…Hang on, let me get another tab up…"

There were more taps, and a minute later, "Yep, there's a pizza place next door. Do you like pizza?"

"Pizza's great," Éponine said.

"Is the half-four viewing okay for you?" There were more clicks. "We could meet at the café beforehand or…"

"I'll meet you there," Éponine interrupted. "I know the cinema you mean. I'll meet you outside the ticket booths at quarter past, okay?"

"Okay!" Cosette's voice was filled with excitement again. "This is going to be so _fun_," she said in a lower voice, almost as if she had forgotten she was still on the phone.

They said their goodbyes, and Éponine pressed the end call button on the phone before placing it down on the coffee table.

She stared at it for a few moments, too many thoughts running through her head. They were thoughts she didn't particularly _want_ in her head; mainly the idea of Cosette and Marius actually bathing together and acting like a couple and…

She picked up the remote again, her finger hovering over the play button. But the images were there, still, imprinting themselves to her brain and refusing to go away.

She closed her eyes firmly, and then opened them again. She looked at her phone. Releasing a heavy sigh, she reached out and grabbed her phone, scrolling through her list of contacts until she reached Combeferre's number.

Éponine hesitated for the smallest of seconds before pressing dial. She could _really _use a distraction right now.

OOO

The film was everything she expected Cosette to want to see. It was fluffy and sweet and cute, with a cast consisting of beautiful people. There wasn't much of a plot, but Éponine also knew it wasn't that sort of film. It was a film made purely to make money, and was also quite forgettable.

Although it was the sort of film she would normally quite happily watch, usually with Musichetta and a bottle of wine, she was relieved to leave the cinema. She'd felt awkward sat so close to Cosette; she could smell her flowery perfume, slightly overpowering, and felt Cosette's arm brushing against hers every time Cosette reached for the popcorn.

Her heart sank when she realised they had to get food now. It wasn't like she could back out all of a sudden.

"_It'll be fine_," she could remember Combeferre saying the night before. "_You know she's not a bad person…You said yourself, you like her, she's a nice person…_"

She kept on repeating his words like a mantra in her head as they were seated in the pizza restaurant next door to the cinema. It was brightly lit with vibrant colourful paintings hanging on the walls; there were small colouring books and crayons on all of the tables for children. Éponine wondered whether she'd be considered immature if she started crayoning herself.

Fortunately for her, Cosette seemed to have had the same idea. Once they'd chosen and ordered their pizzas (Cosette wanted a plain margarita, whilst Éponine customised her toppings with goat's cheese and bacon), Cosette grabbed one of the colouring books and the pot of crayons. She set about colouring in a rather fat, jolly cat with various shades of pink.

Éponine hesitated for a few moments before grabbing the second colouring book. Hers contained a picture of a very dopey looking cow chewing on a daisy.

"How have you been?" Cosette said, a look of intense concentration on her pretty face.

"I've been fine," Éponine said. "You?"

"Better." Cosette smiled. "My father is coming up to visit next week. I can't wait to see him and introduce him to Marius. I think they'll get on like a house on fire, I really do."

Eponine resisted the urge to pull a face. "Wow. He's meeting the parents already?"

"Of course," Cosette said. Éponine immediately wanted to take those words back, realising how snarky they had sounded. For her part, Cosette kept her voice light and easy as if there was no hidden meaning behind Éponine's words. "Papa's the most important man in my life, it's only right he gets to meet the second most important."

More waves of jealousy ran over Éponine. She'd always wanted a father that actually cared about her, instead of one who's neglect got her landed in care and separated from her siblings.

"I bet Marius is nervous," Éponine said, colouring the splodge shapes on the cow's back brown.

"You know how he gets," Cosette said, pausing to choose another colour from the pot. Their drinks arrived at that point – lemonade for Cosette and a coke for Éponine.

Eponine took a big gulp from the glass and sighed. "Yeah, I bet he's having kittens already," she said.

Cosette giggled; it was a lovely sound that drew a lot of attention from others in the room.

"I'm trying to tell him that my father's not _that_ scary," she said, "Because he really isn't. He's actually quite sweet…I know he's my father so I _have _to say that, and in the same sense he's sweet to me _because_ he's my father, but…"

Éponine drove the end of the brown crayon in her hand into the paper. "I hope it goes well."

"It should do," Cosette said. "My father's looking forward to meeting Marius. I've never _had _a proper boyfriend before, so it's going to be quite an experience for him. I was going to cook us all a meal."

"Marius will be pleased with that," Éponine said, remembering Marius' massive appetite. She'd always felt slightly inadequate – her cooking skills weren't brilliant, although he'd enjoyed her homemade macaroni cheese. She assumed that Cosette could cook.

"Yes, I was going to do beef, it's both of their favourites," Cosette said.

Éponine put her crayon down. The idea of colouring had lost its appeal with all the images of cosy family dinners that were being thrown up by Cosette's words.

To try and take her mind off it, she took another big swig of coke and immediately regretted it. The fizz went down the wrong way and she ended up having a small coughing fit.

Cosette handed her a napkin. "Are you okay?" she said, eyes concerned. "Would you like me to ask for some water?"

"I'm fine," Éponine reassured her, taking another, smaller sip of coke. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be daft," Cosette said with a shake of her head. "Anyway, that's enough about me. How are _you_ getting along?"

Éponine set her glass down and considered the question. "I'm fine," she said. "Everything is fine."

Cosette didn't look convinced. "You know, Marius is worried about you," she said. "In his own little Marius way. He noticed you'd stopped coming to the café…"

"Can you blame me?" Éponine said, with a burst of indignation in her chest.

"Not at all," Cosette said calmly. "I tried explaining that to Marius, but it's _Marius_…"

Éponine made a short noise in the back of her throat, looking away from the girl in front of her. She had nothing to say to that statement.

"_I_ understand," Cosette continued. "But he is worried about you regardless of what you think of him. We both are. I especially know you haven't had the easiest of starts in life –"

"Don't," Éponine cut in sharply. "Don't."

Cosette pursed her lips.

There were a few minutes of incredibly awkward silence. The colouring books lay forgotten, although Éponine had taken to ripping the paper off one of the crayons and then shredding it with her nails.

Suddenly, Cosette spoke. "I did tell him not to break up with you."

Éponine glanced up from her shredding. "What?"

"Marius," the other girl replied. "I told him not to break up with you."

Éponine's brow furrowed. "Were you seeing him behind my back?" she demanded.

"_No_." Cosette's voice was firm and maybe even a little bit angry at her suggestion. "No, I would never. We never did anything. He told me he was attracted to me, and I told him not to do anything stupid like break up with you."

"You must be happy now, though," Éponine said bitterly.

"I won't lie to you," Cosette shrugged. "I am the happiest now that I've ever been. I felt bad at the time – no, more than bad, I felt terrible. I still do, sometimes."

"I don't need you to feel bad for me."

"So I won't anymore," Cosette said simply. "I just wanted you to know, that even though I _am_ happy with Marius, I never asked for it. And I am sorry."

At that moment, the waitress brought their pizzas, not realising the moment she had just interrupted. In a way, Éponine was glad for the interruption; she didn't want to answer Cosette's apology.

She could tell, after the waitress left, that Cosette intended to carry on their conversation. So instead of letting that happen, she changed the subject.

"What did you think of the film?" she said, picking up her first slice of pizza. Two types of cheese was a little overpowering for her taste, but it wasn't a bad slice of pizza at all. "I didn't like the ending. I thought that thing with the motorcycle was silly."

Cosette stared at her; there were hints of incredulity in her expression. After a few seconds, the disbelief gave way to impassiveness, and she accepted the change of conversation.

"No, I wasn't much keen on the ending either," Cosette agreed. "But I thought the rest of it was pretty good. I liked the scene with the cupcakes…"

It took the remainder of their meal for the awkwardness from their conversation to lift, but Éponine had a feeling that their conversation was far from over.


	8. Nightmares and Memories

**WARNING: Child abuse and violence. **

**_Chapter Eight_**

**Nightmares and Memories**

"Éponine! I thought you had work today?" Musichetta called across the café as Éponine slipped through the door.

Éponine gave her friend a weak smile in recognition of what she'd said. She had been scheduled to work today, but had called in sick. There was an uncomfortable rolling feeling in her stomach she knew all too well, that kept on coming and going. She'd dreamed about him again last night, and the memorise were too strong for her liking.

She made her way across the café. All of her friends were sat on the sofas today, including Marius and Cosette; it made sense considering it was a Saturday at lunchtime.

Her eyes fell on Combeferre, sat on an armchair with his iPhone in his hand. He had looked up at Musichetta's shout, and there was a pleased smile on her face as she walked towards them.

Musichetta edged up the sofa to allow Éponine to squeeze in beside her. "I managed to get time off," Éponine explained, running a hand through her hair. It was kind of true. "But I couldn't stay in the flat."

The flat had been too cramped, the walls closing in on her. She'd thought the fresh air of the walk over would help ease some of the discomfort she was feeling in her stomach, and it had a little bit.

Now she was sat there, though, the sick feeling was getting stronger and more powerful by the second.

"Are you okay?" Combeferre murmured, his voice low and soft. She looked at him, surprised. "You look a little peaky."

"I'm fine," she said, rubbing the side of her neck.

It had been a long time since she'd felt like that. She willed the nausea to go away, but it was stubborn, swirling around in her stomach and in waves through her whole body.

Combeferre didn't look convinced, so she ignored him and tuned into the conversation that Musichetta was having with Cosette. Something about a pair of gorgeous shoes and a party and Éponine didn't really care, but it was a distraction.

She began to feel a little bit better, but that was when the headache started. It was in her temples, at the front of her head, and she could feel her heart pounding in her brain as well. It was pounding fast, far too fast. Her head was swimming. She pulled at the collar of her T-shirt, suddenly feeling hot and clammy.

"I'm going to the toilet," she said, standing. Maybe she stood too quickly, because her head began to spin even faster. She hurried to the toilet area as fast as her shaking legs could carry her, shoving the door open then taking the sign for the Ladies which was through the next door.

She flung herself into the nearest cubicle and slid the lock across. She gripped her chest, which all of a sudden felt too tight, and there were stabbing pains in her heart as well. The pressure was too much – it was weighing down on her lungs and she couldn't get a proper breath in at all. She tried breathing deeper, trying to gulp in air, but it wasn't working. It was like her throat was closing off completely.

She went to sit on the toilet but slid off as another wave of dizziness passed over her. Her head lolled, her chin resting on her chest. With a shaking hand she fumbled in her pocket for her phone. Her fingers felt too thick and clumsy, like someone had slathered them with butter.

Feeling like she was a million miles away from that toilet cubicle, she scrolled through her contacts list. She pressed dial on the first one that made sense – Combeferre, he'd know what to do, she was sure…She wasn't sure if it was ringing because she couldn't hear properly. Her head was roaring and she could still hear the cacophony that was her heartbeat, hammering away at her skull.

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in.

She was dimly aware of the door to the lady's toilet opening, and then banging on the cubicle she was in.

"Éponine?" Combeferre called.

She used the walls of the cubicle to help support herself as she unlocked the door. A second passed and then Combeferre was forcing himself into the cubicle, crouching in front of her.

"Éponine?" he rested his hands on her shoulders.

"Pa…" Her throat was too tight. The words weren't forming. "Pan…"

"You're having a panic attack," Combeferre said. "Right." His thumbs brushed over the side of her neck and he adjusted the way he was sat so he was kneeling.

"Hand," she managed to force out.

He seemed to understand, taking both of her hands in his. "Éponine, I need you to try and calm down," he said, keeping his voice calm and slow. "Look at me, Éponine – look at me. Look me in the eye. You're okay. You're safe. You are going to be fine. I won't let anything happen to you, Éponine."

She squeezed his hands tightly. Tears burned at her eyes. They finally spilled over, sliding down her cheeks.

"Look at me," he whispered, his thumbs stroking the back of her hands. "You're here, with me, and you're fine. You're safe. I'm with you, and nothing is going to hurt you. Shh…" He let go of one of her hands to wipe at her cheeks with his fingertips. "Don't cry. It's fine. You're fine."

She closed her eyes. She focused on his words. She tried to drag air into her lungs. Minutes passed, and Combeferre's hands held hers the entire time, and eventually it became easier. The pressure in her head faded and the stabbing pains lessened until they were nonexistent. The sick feeling dulled, and although she still felt weak and shaky at least she could _breathe_.

Now the worst was over, she realised she was silently crying.

"It's okay," Combeferre murmured, brushing her hair out of her face. "It's okay."

It wasn't, she thought to herself. Nothing was okay. But she pitched forward, pressing her forehead into the spot where Combeferre's neck and shoulder met. His arms came around her, holding her tight as she cried into his shoulder.

More minutes passed. She pulled back, swiping at her face with the back of her hand.

"D-did anyone notice?" she murmured.

"Yes," Combeferre said. "Musichetta came in. You mustn't have noticed. She's telling everyone you've got a stomach bug, so you'd best stay out of Joly's way for a bit."

She managed a smile at his attempt at a joke.

"Sorry," she said.

"Don't apologise," Combeferre said. "At all."

"I just – sometimes…Sometimes this happens," Éponine said, reaching for the toilet roll holder above her head and pulling out some tissue to wipe her face. "I've not had one in a while."

"Does Musichetta know?" Combeferre asked. "I assumed she did…"

Éponine nodded. "Yeah, I've told her, but she's never seen one. And Cosette knows. I had them a lot more when…" She gestured with the tissue. "When we were in the care home together…"

OOO

Combeferre smoothed her hair back again, tangling his fingers in the dark brown strands. He'd felt like having a panic attack himself when he'd seen her sat there, legs splayed out awkwardly, hyperventilating.

Any training he'd had for occasions like this had flown out of the window and all he'd wanted to do was reassure her that she was safe and that he wouldn't let anything happen to her. Now it was over, she was staring at him with her big chocolate eyes, still slightly wet from the tears she'd wept, and he wasn't sure he wanted to let go of the hand that he was still holding onto. Her hands had felt so fragile and small in his…

He realised she was speaking.

"…I don't want everyone knowing," Éponine finished,

"What if it happens again?" he said. "Does someone need to be with you?"

"Not – not really. It just helps to distract me." Éponine squeezed his fingers, giving him a reassuring smile. "Thank you. And I am sorry."

"Don't be," he said. "I don't want you to. I'm glad I could help."

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the wall of the toilet cubicle.

"Are you okay now?" he said, noticing she was still a little pale despite the flush to her cheeks.

"I just feel really shaky," she said. "I felt sick this morning and I didn't sleep much last night so I called in sick…I just didn't like being in the flat."

"I can drive you home," he suggested. "If you'd like." He was hoping she'd say yes. There was some part of him that wanted to tuck her into bed and made sure she rested.

She gave him a grateful smile, and there it was, another squeeze of his hand. "Please," she said.

He stood and then crouched, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her into a standing position. For a few seconds, she leaned into him, her arms looping around his waist as she pressed her face into his chest. He felt her drop the lightest, feathery kiss in the centre of his chest before she pulled away.

"I should be okay to walk," she said.

He kept a hand near the small of her back as they made their way back to the main café. Every one of their friends looked concerned, and Cosette was sat on the edge of her seat, ignoring Marius' attempts to pull her back into a cuddle.

"I'm going to drive Éponine home," Combeferre announced.

Joly was staring at Éponine with narrowed eyes. Combeferre saw his expression and rolled his eyes.

"Relax, Joly," he said. "You're not going to catch anything."

The suspicion didn't leave Joly's eyes, not even when Musichetta smacked him on the arm and told him to relax.

Cosette stood up suddenly and flung her arms around Éponine's neck. Combeferre stepped aside out of surprise more than anything, having nearly ended up with Cosette's hand in his nose.

"I hope you feel better," Cosette said, pulling away from Éponine and giving her a very pointed look.

"You know I will," Éponine muttered, before allowing Combeferre to guide her out of the café to his car.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. He couldn't help but feel worried about her now.

"I'm _fine_," she stressed. "As I said, just a bit shaky. I just need a nap."

Once they were out of sight of the café, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his body. He caught her lips with his, cupping the back of her head with his free hand.

"I'm glad you called me," he whispered, against her mouth. He wasn't sure where the words had come from, but he knew he meant them.

She didn't respond out loud. Instead, she slipped her hand into his and stepped back a little.

"Take me home," she said, softly, and he did just that.

OOO

Combeferre stayed with Éponine for the rest of the day and most of the evening. For the first time since their arrangement began, they stayed in a room with one another without having sex. Instead, she stayed curled against his body as they made their way through various cheesy, funny films designed to occupy her mind and steer it away from her nightmares.

"Thank you," she said, at around midnight when he decided to leave. They'd ordered Chinese food for their dinner, and had ended up watching the last two _Harry Potter_ films; she couldn't honestly say she'd wanted him to leave, but didn't know how he'd react if she asked him to stay.

"It was no problem at all," he said, giving her a smile. "I've enjoyed myself." He leaned down to drop a kiss on top of her head. She closed her eyes and leaned into the affectionate gesture.

He pulled away and his face was serious again.

"If you have any problems during the night, give me a call," he said.

"I should be fine," Éponine replied, "But I will do."

"Good." He gave her another kiss, this time a soft, lingering one on her mouth that she was trying desperately hard not to read too much into.

"Goodnight, Combeferre," she said, as he stepped back into the hallway.

"Sweet dreams, Éponine."

She shut the door behind him and then leaned against it. Closing her eyes, she shook her head, hoping that would help clear the memory of the softness of his lips from her mind.

OOO

The next morning, she decided to check the post. She checked the building's post box downstairs once a week. She only ever received bills in the post, unless she'd ordered something online or, on the rare occasion someone bought something from her online shop (and subsequently didn't like it), some jewellery was being returned to her.

Today, however, she found a letter with her name on it that did not look anything like a bill or a parcel. It had a pale pink envelope, and her name and address was written on the front in neat block capitals.

Frowning in confusion, Éponine took the letter back upstairs to her flat, where she flopped down onto the sofa and tore the envelope open.

_Dear Éponine Thenardier, _

_I'm really sorry if this seems out of the blue, and I also hope I haven't overstepped a line in writing to you._

_I am your brother Gavroche's adopted mother. He has been living with me since he was three, and honestly, I don't consider him to be anything other than my biological son. I cannot tell you the joy I have had in raising him. _

_However, it has come to my attention recently that Gavroche wishes to see you. We have never kept it a secret from him that he is adopted, although the exact circumstances of his going into care have never been shared. He knows that he has two older sisters, and he would like to meet both of you._

_I was only able to find contact details for one of you, though. It took me a while and, being completely honest, I'm still not completely certain I have the right person, but if you are not Gavroche's sister I sincerely apologise._

_As I said, Gavroche would like to see both of you. If you could put me in touch with your sister, that would be fantastic and I would be very grateful. In the meantime, I have enclosed one of my business cards so you have numbers to contact me on; I work from home, so any of the numbers provided should do._

_I've also put my address at the top of this letter so you can reply by mail if you wish to. _

_I know I have already said it, but I'll say it again: I hope I haven't overstepped a line in contacting you, and I understand if you do not want me to get in touch again. But I do know that Gavroche would love to be reunited with his siblings once more._

_Best wishes,_

_Juliette Moreau_

Éponine reached back into the envelope and retrieved the business card mentioned.

It was the business card for a cleaning company, and there were little blue flowers around the edges. The card had two contact numbers on it, and Juliette Moreau's name once more.

Feeling a little like she'd been punched in the head, Éponine put the letter and the business card down on the table in front of her.

Gavroche wanted to see her. Her little brother, who she had not seen since he was three years old, wanted to see _her_, the fuck up that was his eldest sister.

She stood up quickly and grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door. Finding her keys on the kitchen counter, she left her apartment, slamming the door shut behind her.

She needed fresh air, and she needed it fast.

OOO

She had been six years old when her father had first raised his hands to her.

He'd never been a brilliant father in the first place, just like her mother had never been a brilliant mother. Between them, they were pretty terrible parents. She hadn't fully understood just how bad until she was a lot older. Back then, everything was just taken to be a normal part of life.

She just assumed that the seedy nightclub with its dark corners and scary men were a part of every child's life; she'd just assumed that having money on tap was a given, no matter where the money had come from.

Éponine's early childhood hadn't been like Cosette's: whereas Cosette's was marred by poverty and near starvation, Éponine had spent her early years with everything money could buy. She had all the latest toys, the best clothes, the fanciest gadgets. She'd never wanted for anything, except for the love and affection of her parents.

Her parents were greedy, materialistic people. They saw the toys, clothes and gadgets as love and affection. They didn't understand how a child could possibly want anything else.

So when Éponine began to cry one day – begging for a cuddle and some attention – her father hit her. It had been one hard, stinging slap across her cheek that had silenced her immediately.

"One more peep from you, Éponine, and there'll be more of that," he threatened.

Her mother had just looked on with impassiveness. Sometimes, Éponine wasn't sure her mother_ had_ a heart.

The second time had been similar; it was different because the slap had been a punishment for her spilling some milk. The third time was again similar, although it was a punch rather than a slap. That one left a bruise, so she wasn't allowed in school for a while.

In fact, it wasn't long after that she was stopped going to school altogether. Azelma, her sister, never even started. The nightclubs her father owned began to fail, and he began to drink. The slaps and punches became more frequent, became harder, more aggressive, more damaging.

Both of her parents stopped caring altogether. The nice gifts stopped. They wallowed in the grief of losing their beloved nightclubs and source of income through alcohol and drugs and violence. From those days, Éponine remembered long, long nights sitting in a dark, locked room, crying because she was too little to be able to stop Gavroche's shrieking cries (he was only a baby) and too young to understand what to do when Azelma wet the bed. There were stretches of days where she couldn't remember being able to find food, and it still made her angry, to this day, that her parents had money to piss away on cocaine but not on feeding their children.

The first time her father went to hit Azelma, Éponine took the punch. The beating that followed was one that nearly killed Éponine, and it was the only time her mother showed any concern. She called an ambulance, but scarpered before it arrived.

Things moved swiftly after that. Reports from the school combined with statements from neighbours and the doctor's input got all three of them taken into care.

Éponine would be eighteen before she saw her parents again. Looking back, though, she wished she'd never seen them again after that night.

OOO

Éponine opened her eyes and realised she was sat on a swing in a children's playground.

The playground itself was eerily quiet. She could see no children at all, just a lone man in the distance walking a small dog.

One of her hands was wrapped loosely around the chains of the swing, whilst the toes of her shoes dragged in the sand beneath her feet. The wind was gentle but cold, ruffling her hair and sending the empty swings on either side of her rocking back and forth.

Sighing, Éponine ran her other hand through her hair and kept her thumb and fingers pressed against her temple.

It had been a while since she'd allowed her mind to retreat down that dark, lonely path towards her earliest memories. As a rule, she tried to forget it; other, more recent events, just as ugly and painful, were much fresher in her mind and she couldn't be dealing with remembering both at the same time.

But that letter…It had been like ripping open an old wound. She could feel the force of her father's fists as if he was here right now, feel the thuds of the toes of his pointed brogues in her stomach, feel the blood dribbling from her nose, her milk teeth coming loose.

She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was no longer that child, she was not that little girl. She might still be called Éponine Thenardier, but she was not one of _the_ Thenardiers anymore, and her father no longer got to stomp all over her life.

Repeating those words in her head, she pushed herself off the swing and set off for home.


	9. Bad History

**_Chapter Nine_**

**Bad History**

Éponine thought for two whole days about whether or not she wanted to see Gavroche again.

On one hand, she'd always dreamed of seeing her siblings again. She'd always thought she'd be reunited with Azelma at some point, having been in her life for longer, but that was looking less and less likely by the day. Gavroche, on the other hand, had been exactly that – a dream. She was well aware she could walk past Gavroche in the street and not recognise him at all. The thought made her chest ache a little, and was the main reason she decided to write back to Gavroche's adopted mother and request to see him.

Even as she wrote the letter, she was having doubts about the whole idea. She didn't know him, and he didn't know her. Juliette Moreau had said in her letter that Gavroche didn't know the exact circumstances of how he and his sisters ended up in care. That was a can of worms that Éponine didn't want to open. She couldn't be the one to explain to him what his parents were. He must know they were _bad_ parents, but to know just how bad…

And he'd want to know. Hell, she knew she'd want to know if she was him. His mother worked from home, gave out business cards – Éponine was willing to bet all the money she had left in the world that Gavroche's adopted parents were well off and her little brother was probably spoiled. That idea eased the ache in her chest a little, knowing he'd probably had a good life away from all of the shit that came with being a Thenardier. He was a Moreau now, after all.

Coming from that background – parents who actually loved him, and enough money for them to live comfortably – would mean one hell of a shock if he finally learned what his biological parents were like. Then there was the problem of Azelma. What if he wanted to know about her? What could she possibly say?

_Your sister did the stupid thing and went back to our parents. I don't really know what she's doing now. She could be a prostitute, or a drug addict, or she could even be in prison. I haven't a clue. _

What about her, in fact? Would she be a disappointment, too? Would he be expecting another adoption success story, like himself and Cosette? Someone with a university degree and a flash apartment and a driving license? If that was the case he'd be sorely disappointed; she'd barely scraped her way through high school, struggled to pay the rent and who would trust her driving something so potentially dangerous as a car? Éponine was a fuck up in a lot of ways and she wasn't sure she wanted Gavroche to know that. She didn't want him to have high expectations of his sister and then be _disappointed_…

It was with all of these thoughts running through her brain that she decided to pen a letter to her brother. Whilst Juliette Moreau had taken the time to write her letter by hand, in a neat, elegant script on special pink paper, Éponine decided to turn to her laptop (at least it had a spell-checker and Gavroche wouldn't have to see how atrocious her handwriting was).

Taking her cue from Juliette's letter, Éponine began to write (she'd never written a letter before. She'd never thought it could be so daunting).

_Dear Gavroche,_

_I was very happy to get the letter from your mother. It was a nice surprise. I really wasn't expecting it. I definitely would like to see you again, Gavroche. Unfortunately I don't know where Azelma (that's our sister) is right now so you won't be able to meet her just yet. _

_I'll phone your mother at some point soon to arrange a proper date to meet on if that's okay with you. Actually, do you have a Facebook account? Because I could add you on that if you wanted. I don't know how this is going to work out if I'm completely honest. Would you like to meet straight away or do you want to talk to each other for a bit first? _

_It's completely up to you of course so I'll let you decide. You can phone me when you've made your mind up._

_Love, Éponine x _

She added her number after that. She read back over the letter probably two hundred times, wondering if it was coherent or if it was a jumbled mess and if it made sense and was she too in his face…Was the kiss too much, she thought to herself, as she carefully wrote out Juliette Moreau's address in block capitals on an envelope. Was it too much considering she didn't know him at all? Maybe it would have been better if she'd phoned rather than writing. Maybe…

These thoughts were still swirling around her head even after she'd dropped the letter into a post box the following day. She paused for a few moments, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, and stared hard at the post box. A part of her wanted to try and shove her hand through the opening and claw the letter back out. There were so many uncertainties about sending this letter, so many _what ifs_ she didn't have the answer for.

Biting her lip, she turned away from the post box. She shot one last look over her shoulder before starting to walk, deciding that what happened next was in the hands of the gods.

OOO

Combeferre was trying to read a book, with a lot of emphasis on the _trying_. It was the latest from his favourite author – a dystopian science fiction mystery novel in a series, one he'd waited three years to get his hands on.

He should have known better, he supposed, than try to read it in the Café Musain of all places, but in his defence he'd thought Courfeyrac and Bahorel would have been busy today rather than loudly discussing their sex lives.

With a heavy sigh, he used a receipt to mark his page and closed the book with a sharp snap. Courfeyrac was gesturing in an animated fashion to apparently illustrate how curvy some woman he'd slept with on the weekend was. Combeferre hadn't been out on the weekend but he was sure that it was physically impossible for a woman's waist to be that small without the aid of a corset.

"Haven't you guys got somewhere else to be?" he said pointedly. "Like, maybe, not annoying me? Or Enjolras, for that matter," he added, noticing how tightly their blond friend was gripping his biro. It looked like he was going to snap it any second now.

Bahorel raised his thick eyebrows. "How are we annoying you?"

"We're reminding him that he's not getting laid," Courfeyrac said, giving Combeferre his trademark cheeky grin. Combeferre rolled his eyes.

"Sure," he said. "You're annoying me by discussing all of that sex I am _not_ having. Because I am really interested in casual sexual encounters."

His mind flashed straight to Éponine, to moans and sighs, to teeth biting into his shoulder, to nails raking down his back, to legs wrapped around his hips…He shifted awkwardly in his seat, reminding himself that his friends knew nothing of his arrangement with Éponine and it was going to stay that way until she gave the green light to do otherwise.

Thinking of that, he suppressed the smirk those images wanted to force onto his face and amused himself internally with the lie behind his words.

"I can't think of any other reason you'd be annoyed," Courfeyrac shrugged, sipping his coffee.

"The loudness of your voice?" Combeferre suggested, tapping his fingers on the book on his lap.

"Nah, I'm still swaying towards the subject," Courfeyrac said. He leaned forward. "Want to join in?"

"I'd rather not," Combeferre said. "I came here to read my book."

"When was the last time you slept with a girl?" Courfeyrac demanded, ignoring his friend's words.

Combeferre sighed. "Really? We need to talk about this?"

"_Again_?" Enjolras muttered under his breath. Courfeyrac smirked.

"We can talk about your love life instead, if you want," he offered. Enjolras shot his friend a look that clearly said _try it and my pen will be embedded in your jugular_, and Courfeyrac turned his attentions back to Combeferre.

"Was it Christiane?" Bahorel chipped in. Combeferre shook his head. That was his third-to-last girlfriend, a redhead who was saving herself for marriage with a love of funny cat videos and a penchant for the dramatics.

"No," he said. "Christiane is way off the mark."

"It was that crazy one," Courfeyrac said, eyes sparkling. "You know the one. Sylvie, I think her name was, right?"

"She wasn't crazy," Combeferre said defensively.

"She fancied Enjolras," Bahorel said.

"Most girls fancy Enjolras," Combeferre said in an exasperated voice. "Have you _seen_ him?"

Enjolras glowered in Combeferre's general direction, and muttered under his breath.

"She wasn't crazy for the fancying Enjolras, she was crazy for thinking _you_ were the way to his heart," Courfeyrac said. "Because nothing says 'I love you' better than screwing Enjolras' best friend."

"Again, that doesn't necessarily make her _crazy_," Combeferre pointed out. "She was just…You know, a little ruthless."

"But she was the last one, right?" Courfeyrac said. "Because, man, that was what – almost a year ago, now? That's a long time."

"It could be longer," Combeferre said. "And it's really not any of your business."

"I don't want to see you turning into the man of marble over there," Courfeyrac said, nodding his head towards Enjolras. This time, the blond man ignored him.

"And I don't want to see you turning into Grantaire," Combeferre replied. "My sex life, or lack thereof, is really _not_ a big deal."

"What was that?"

He looked up and saw Éponine hovering next to them. She had one eyebrow raised and her hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie; her hair was loose and tousled by the wind.

"Combeferre's being whiny because he wants sex," Courfeyrac informed her, his grin nearly splitting his face in two.

Éponine smirked and dropped into the sofa next to Combeferre. She kept her eyes fixed on his in a way that made him feel a little bit awkward – the look in her eyes was full of promises for the night time.

"Is that so?" she said.

"I'm not getting whiny because of that," Combeferre sighed. "I'm getting whiny because I'm trying to concentrate and they're –"

"He's lying out of sexual frustration," Courfeyrac sang.

"Jeez, Combeferre," Éponine grinned, leaning back in her seat. "You should get someone to help you out with that sexual frustration thing. It might make you a little nicer to your friends."

Combeferre rolled his eyes at the sound of Bahorel's barking laugh, and he could feel Courfeyrac's gaze burning into the side of his head. But he ignored them, keeping his eyes trained on Éponine. He was trying to get across to her what he was thinking as effectively as she was doing to him – that he planned on getting her to help him out with it that evening – and she broke first, swinging her head back around to Courfeyrac.

"Or you could just stop being a loudmouth," she advised him. "Either works."

"Hey, I'm being a good friend here," Courfeyrac said. "I want Combeferre to have good sex as much as he wants to have it. Isn't that what all people want for their friends?"

Éponine rolled her eyes and laughed. "Dickhead," she murmured under her breath, and it only caused Courfeyrac's grin to grow wider. Fortunately, Éponine's arrival seemed to remind Bahorel of something and he rapidly changed the subject back to himself and some girl he'd seen at the club a couple of weeks back.

"Thanks for that," Combeferre murmured out of the corner of his mouth. He slid his nail between the pages of his book and flipped it open to where the receipt had marked his page.

"No problem," Éponine said. "Although, I nearly let them get on with it. It's kind of fun watching you squirm…"

He nudged her with his elbow. "Minx," he said.

"You love it."

Well, he couldn't deny that.

OOO

Éponine watched Combeferre as he tilted his head down and began to read his book once more. There was still a faint blush across his cheeks, but it had been much more vivid when she'd first walked into the café. She'd realised instantly that someone in the group was in one of their teasing modes, and noticed it was Courfeyrac as she walked around the crowd of people that was obscuring her friends.

But when she'd heard the subject he'd been teasing Combeferre on, she'd nearly laughed out loud then and there and told them the truth. She'd quickly decided that wasn't fair on Combeferre, though, considering he'd given no hints of wanting to tell his friends about their arrangement. Still, it had amused her that Courfeyrac thought Combeferre's sex life was nonexistent – and that none of their friends had even observed what was going on between Combeferre and Éponine. Hadn't any of them noticed that Combeferre seemed to be giving her a hell of a lot of lifts home lately? Hadn't Courfeyrac noticed that Combeferre was spending a lot of time away from their flat?

Shaking her head, she let her thoughts go back to the letter she had posted earlier that day and what I could mean for her. Now it was in the post, she had found a bubble of excitement had begun to grow in her stomach. Every time she thought about the prospect of meeting her brother, the bubble filled with butterflies, their wings tormenting her tummy to the point where she almost began to feel sick. And yet it was almost a pleasurable feeling. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt _excited_ about something like this.

"Something interesting happened to me today," she said as she felt the bubble swell so much she thought it was going to burst. She hadn't said it loud enough for everyone to hear, but out of the corner of her mouth so that the one person she wanted to tell could hear.

Combeferre lowered his book and raised his eyebrows. "Huh?"

"Something interesting happened to me today," she repeated, in case he hadn't heard. He frowned, so she guessed he'd been too engrossed in his book to have heard her the first time around.

"What's that, then?" he said, closing his book but keeping his thumb between the pages.

"I got a letter from my brother the other day," she said. "Well, his adopted mother, more accurately. He wants to meet me."

She was aware she'd never indulged any details about her family life apart from the fact she had siblings and had been in care, but considering how intimate she had been with Combeferre lately she didn't see the harm in telling him more personal details in her life.

Combeferre slipped his bookmark into place and removed his thumb. "Is that a good thing?" he said, in a quiet, collected voice. She could tell he was working over his information in his mind.

"I hope so," Éponine said. "The interesting thing that happened was I wrote back and said I wanted to meet him, too."

"That's a big step," Combeferre said. "When was the last time you saw him?"

She scrunched her face up as she thought. "Oh, God, I don't know. He was a toddler."

Combeferre's eyes widened a fraction. "That's a very long time, Éponine. This is a big deal for both of you. How old is he?"

Éponine worked it out in her head. "He's in his teens, I think," she said, slowly. "Roughly around…fifteen, maybe?"

"Definitely a big deal." He lowered his voice a little bit more. "A lot will have changed in both your lives. You know that, right?"

"I know," Éponine said, and with those words, the bubble of excitement diminished a little as all of the worries she'd felt this morning came flooding back to her. "I know," she repeated, in a quieter voice.

She watched as his face softened a little. "I'm not trying to rain on your parade," he said, gently. "Really, I'm not. I'm happy for you, if this is what you _want_."

"It is what I want," she assured him. "Honestly? I've wanted to get back in touch with Gavroche for a while. It's just – like I said – he's a teenager now, and I'm an adult, and I'm not sure he even remembers me properly. I do have worries about it…"

He touched her arm. It was a soft, barely-there movement that made her body relax somewhat.

"I'm sure it will be fine," he said, his eyes warm. "Just take it one step at a time. And ignore me." He rolled his eyes. "I really don't know what I'm talking about when it comes to things like this."

"What, Combeferre not knowing what he's talking about?" She elbowed him and pressed a hand over her heart. "I can't believe it. Is it _possible_?"

That resulted in another rolling of his eyes. "It's been known to happen," he said. "Let me know how it goes on, though."

"I will do," she said. "I need to be able to talk to someone about it."

Combeferre shrugged. "That always helps. You…You don't really like to talk about your family, do you?"

Her shoulders tensed on instinct. "If you had my family, you wouldn't want to talk about them either," she said, hating how her voice had suddenly gone crisp and cold to her own ears. "This is different. This is a _good_ thing."

Combeferre touched her arm again. "Éponine, that wasn't a dig," he said. "I'm sorry if it felt like I was prying. I didn't mean to."

"No, I know," she said, sighing. "It's just…" At that moment, Grantaire arrived, swaggering over to their sofas in a way that suggested he'd had one too many to drink already.

"We'll talk later," Combeferre said to her, and she settled back into the sofa, not sure if she even wanted the conversation to continue.

OOO

It didn't, as it turned out. Not for a lack of trying on Combeferre's part, but because Éponine knew just where to kiss and just where to touch to get Combeferre's mind elsewhere.

After two rounds – one where she was bent over the arm of her sofa, and then one against the wall in her shower – Combeferre fell asleep in her bed. This had happened a handful of times since their arrangement had started and Éponine found she didn't really mind.

Tonight, however, she didn't fall asleep with him. Instead, she padded into the living area and lit up a cigarette, huddled into the corner of her sofa.

Her words from earlier came back to her, as well as Combeferre's. She needed to talk to someone about the decision she had just made. Whilst she felt comfortable with Combeferre knowing about her meeting with her brother, she didn't quite feel ready to discuss _everything_ with him just yet.

But she could acknowledge she couldn't keep it to herself. She had to talk to someone. She groaned as she flicked the ash off her cigarette, not caring she was missing her ashtray. There was only one person she could think of – apart from those who brought back hideous memories, and Azelma – who knew about her family history and would understand what she was going to.

Éponine would have to talk to Cosette.


	10. Reckless

**_Chapter Ten_**

**Reckless**

The following morning, Éponine text Cosette and asked if she'd be available to go shopping that day. She vaguely remembered hearing Cosette say that she had Wednesdays off midweek, and she was grateful that she was on a late shift herself and would have the day free.

Cosette replied within five minutes, and they arranged to meet at the Café Musain once more. Cosette proposed going to one of the flashy shopping centres a couple of miles away, so they got a taxi.

Éponine preferred their local high street to the shopping centre. It was too posh for her – too many pillars and statues and too much marble and glass for her liking. But Cosette seemed content enough, and Éponine resigned herself to the fact she was going to be dragged around too many clothes stores she couldn't afford to buy anything from. Until she was paid next week, she only had pennies to her name; she was living off pasta and not much else until that money entered her bank account.

They'd just bought milkshakes from a stand, as well as a bag of double chocolate chip cookies, when Éponine decided to broach the subject of Gavroche.

"My brother got in touch with me," she said as they walked into another clothes store. She pulled a hunk of the cookie off with her fingers and popped it into her mouth, watching as Cosette lifted a purple leather skirt from the rack of clothes.

"That is disgusting," Cosette murmured, eyeing the item in her hands with a look of distaste on her face. She took a long, noisy slurp of her milkshake and put the skirt back on the rail. "Your brother got in touch," she repeated. "Gavroche, right?"

"Yeah, that's him." Éponine licked the sweet crumbs from her lips. "It was a bit out of the blue."

"I can imagine," Cosette said. "Did he call you?"

"His adopted mother wrote me a letter."

"And did you write back?" She was now rifling through a rack of flowery yellow dresses that Éponine knew would look gorgeous on Cosette.

"Yeah," Éponine replied, nibbling on the edge of her cookie. Her teeth sank into a soft chocolate chunk. "I wasn't sure whether I should or not, but I decided to eventually."

"I think that's a good thing," Cosette said, slurping up more milkshake. She fiddled with the price tags on the dresses. "I mean, I'd love to be able to get in touch with my blood relatives if I could. I love my father – and he _is_ my father – but I'd still like to see what I'm related to, you know?"

"That's why I decided to, in the end," Éponine said. "He's my brother, and I just…I just wanted to make sure he was okay."

"That's understandable." Cosette moved onto the next rack, this time surveying some pale grey and blue jumpers. Éponine couldn't help but grab the sleeve of one of the jumpers herself to see whether the wool was as soft as it looked. It was, but the price tag had her dropping it pretty fast.

"I'm just worried about it," she said, chewing on the inside of her mouth.

"Again, understandable," Cosette said, now holding one of the jumpers against herself. "Do you think this would suit me?"

"I think that the blue is too pale," Éponine said honestly. "But I think those purple ones over there would look nice," she added, gesturing to a rack of plum-coloured cardigans on the other side of the store.

"Thanks," Cosette said, putting the jumper back and making her way over to the purple cardigans. "So what are you worried about in particular?"

"Everything," Éponine confessed. "What if I disappoint him? Like, if he's expecting me to be like him and have a good life and shit and I'm just – you know, working in a supermarket and struggling to get by…And what if he starts asking awkward questions? What if he wants to meet our parents? What if he wants to know why he can't see Azelma?"

Cosette paused in her inspection of the plum-coloured cardigans. "Éponine, he will not be disappointed in you," she said in a fierce voice. "I can tell you that much. You might not have the fanciest of lives, but you've worked hard to get where you are today and you can stand on your own two feet and fight for yourself, which is more than can be said for a lot of people. You should be proud of where you've managed to get."

Éponine wasn't sure what she'd expected Cosette to say, but it wasn't that. Instead of acknowledging Cosette's words, Éponine said, "But he's, like, _fifteen_ or something. He's a kid. He doesn't appreciate things like that."

"You don't know him," Cosette pointed out. "Give him some more credit. Besides, you're his sister and he wants to see you. He might not care what you're life is like as long as he can be in it. He's reaching out – that says a lot."

"That's another thing, _I don't know him_," Éponine said, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. "I could walk past him in the street and not know who he was. What if I fuck up and say something that offends him?"

"I like you a lot, Éponine, but you're _you_; you're going to offend him at some point," Cosette said with a cheeky smile. Éponine couldn't bring herself to return it, and instead asked for another cookie in a glum voice.

Cosette sighed heavily and reached into her handbag for the paper bag of cookies. After a couple of moments, she handed over a cookie. "Éponine, I think that these are all valid concerns in their own right," she said in a soft and gentle voice. "But I also think you need to put them behind you and wait until you've seen Gavroche. As you've said, he's fifteen years old – a child in your eyes, yes, but he's mature enough to have decide he wants to see you, which says a lot as far as I'm concerned. Try not to dwell on the negatives. Think of the good things: you're going to see your _brother_, your flesh and blood, the boy you've not seen since he was a baby."

"A toddler," Éponine corrected automatically.

"Whatever," Cosette shrugged, stroking a hand over the purple cardigan. "You know, I do quite like this," she murmured. "It's not too expensive, either."

Éponine eyed the price tag and personally disagreed, but she chose not to say anything.

"You know, I always thought Gavroche was a cute kid," Cosette said. "I thought he looked like you."

"He looked nothing like me," Éponine scoffed, thinking back to blonde hair and blue eyes that neither she nor Azelma had possessed.

"Not in an obvious way, but your eyes were the same shape, and you had the same nose," Cosette said. "He was cute, anyway."

Éponine thought back to the three year old face she remembered and supposed he was, even if it was a bit blurry around the edges.

"Do you remember a lot about the home, then?" Éponine said, stroking the sleeve of a plaid shirt.

"Not really," Cosette answered. "I've blocked a lot of it out."

"Replaced them with happier memories?" Éponine guessed.

"Something like that." Cosette shrugged. "You forget, I was there from a younger age than you, so there's a lot I don't remember because I was too young. I remember more about living there with you…"

Guilt flashed through Éponine, hot and ugly and burning. "Cosette…"

"Like, I remember picking the lock to the bathroom door one time when you had a panic attack," Cosette said, in a faraway voice. "With a hairpin. I remember, that woman – I forget her name – she was frantic, thought they'd have to break the door down, but I remember that Nicolas – that boy with the red hair – he taught me how to pick locks the week before and I managed to get them in there. You know, I still know how to pick a lock."

"That makes two of us," Éponine said. She could remember the incident – it occurred three weeks after she moved into the home. She remembered how frightened she'd felt, as it was her first panic attack, and how embarrassed she'd felt afterwards at the scene it had caused. She could also remember Nicolas, a boisterous boy of thirteen who had taught her how to pick locks and get through windows without breaking the glass. It was funny; those tricks had come in handy later, when she left the home.

"I remember other things, of course," Cosette said. "Like the way the rooms smelled, and the toys they had in the garden. They weren't _all_ bad memories."

"No, they weren't," Éponine agreed. "I have some good ones, too."

Cosette smiled at her, finally lifting one of the cardigans off the rack and hanging it over her arm. "I'm going to get it," she announced.

"It's a nice colour," Éponine managed. "And thanks."

"What for?" Cosette said, meandering over to the jewellery section.

"For talking to me," Éponine said. "About Gavroche."

Cosette fingered a gold necklace encrusted with red gems. "You don't need to thank me," she said. "It's what friends are there for, right?"

"Sure," Éponine agreed, whilst wondering in her head at what point they had become friends.

OOO

Later, the taxi they'd called for dropped them off down the street from Café Musain. Cosette was weighed down by a lot of bags, whilst Éponine had chosen not to buy anything due to her lack of funds.

"I wish that the driver had dropped us off on the other end," Cosette huffed, struggling to adjust her grip on the bags in her hands.

"He was a grumpy dick," Éponine offered in response, wishing the same thing due to the dull ache in her feet caused by the amount of walking she'd done today.

Up ahead, Éponine clocked a group of schoolboys meandering down the street. They were laughing, talking loudly, and were directly in the same path as Cosette and herself.

They drew nearer and nearer to them. A couple of the boys scooted around them one way, a third the other, but the one in the middle decided not to bother. Éponine rolled her eyes as the boy went out of his way to knock into her. "Sorry," the boy muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Dick," Éponine snapped in response, and took two more steps before things clicked into place for her. She remembered being seventeen years old, descending back into a world she left behind as a child, being taught how to slip hands into pockets that did not belong to her.

She cursed herself for keeping her purse in her back pocket instead of bringing a bag out today. She put her hand into her pocket to check and was not surprised when she realised that her wallet wasn't there.

"Hey!" she shouted, whirling around. The group of boys broke out into a run.

"Éponine?" Cosette questioned, bewildered.

"That fucker took my purse," she snapped at her friend, and broke out into a run.

The boys scattered into different directions. She followed the boy that bumped into her, knowing he was the only one that got close enough to have taken it.

He was fast, she'd give him that, but she was faster. She always had been good at it. When she got older, they'd found her quite handy as she knew how to get around without being caught. She also knew these streets well enough, and as she ran after the boy, she wondered whether he knew them as well.

The answer came pretty quickly as he suddenly turned down what she knew to be a dead end alleyway.

She swung around the corner, her hand curling around the edge of the wall. The boy had made it to the other end, but as predicted, was kicking a brick wall.

He spun suddenly, dragging the purse from beneath his school uniform blazer. He threw it at her. It hit the ground and popped open, coins scattering across the litter dotted floor. "Have it," he said, "Just don't call the police or anything."

She kneeled down and began to collect the coins up, slipping them back into her purse. She narrowed her eyes as she realised that the weak, aged zip had finally given up when it hit the pavement. She'd have to buy a new purse at some point. It occurred to her, then, picking up coins from a dirty floor with shaking hands, that this situation could have gone so much worse. This boy could have been dangerous. Hadn't she learned, in times past, that age was no indication of threat when it came to people?

"I'm not going to call the police, dickhead," she said in a harsh voice. "Not if you fuck off now and fuck off quick."

The boy stared at her. She rose up from her crouch, shoving the purse back into her pocket. She was still a little bit out of breath from the sudden run, and judging by the rapid rise and fall of the boy's chest, so was he. He ran a hand through his fair hair. "I just –"

Some fierceness Éponine had feared she'd lost rose up and she took a step towards him. "I said, fuck off," she snarled in a low voice. "Get out of here."

The boy walked past her, keeping his eyes on her in a way that reminded her of prey keeping an eye on its predator. She turned on the spot to follow his movements and once he was right past her he began to run again.

She began to walk out of the alleyway, dragging her fingers through her hair. Her heart was pounding and she felt sick with thoughts of how badly that could have gone.

She came out of the alley back onto a busy street, now pressing her hands to her mouth. She stared back down the street, looking for Cosette's familiar form amongst the crowds of people. With a sigh, she realised that the other girl had disappeared. She knew exactly where Cosette had gone, and with a heavy heart she set off to join her at the Café Musain.

OOO

Combeferre was sat in the café when Cosette burst in, a vision in a mint green dress and purple shoes, laden with shopping bags and smelling of flowers. It was hard to miss her as she ran in, considering the amount of noise she made whilst doing it. That had his alarm bells ringing first. Cosette was not one for _bursting_; she swept in, usually, walking in a way that was more gliding in his opinion.

The thing that made his alarm bells ring even more was the fact that she was alone. Marius was at the café with them this afternoon and he'd talked their ear off in the first ten minutes about how Éponine had invited Cosette shopping instead of the other way around.

But Éponine wasn't with Cosette.

The third thing was the panicked look on Cosette's face and the way she unceremoniously dumped her shopping bags onto the floor.

"Éponine's been mugged," she said, all in a rush. He dropped his pen, his heart beginning to pound.

"Wait, what?" Courfeyrac's eyebrows knitted together. "_When_?"

"Just now," Cosette said. She looked close to crying, and Marius folded her into a tight hug. "We were walking back and this boy bumped into her – he must have picked her pocket –"

"Where is she?" Combeferre said, cutting her off.

"She ran after him," Cosette said. "Someone go after her, _please_, what if…"

It was Enjolras who leaped into action without a second thought. "Bahorel, Feuilly, let's go," he said. "What direction did they go in?"

Cosette told them, but Combeferre tuned her out. He felt angry, honest to God _angry_, and he wasn't sure when he'd last felt this furious. Part of it was anger that someone had stolen from her, part of it was worry for her wellbeing, but a huge part of it stemmed from how _stupid_ he thought her actions were.

Enjolras, Bahorel and Feuilly left the café, and Combeferre found his voice. "Why would she run after them?"

Cosette blinked, raising her head from Marius' chest. "She just ran," she answered. "She didn't really say why…What if…I mean, he was just a boy, but…There are bad people out there and –"

"Shhh, do not worry about that now," Marius murmured in a soothing voice. "I'm sure she'll be fine. Trust me. Éponine knows how to look after herself, and those three are looking for her now. It'll be fine, Cosette, I promise."

"Why does she do things like this?" Combeferre demanded, not to anyone in particular. The rest of them were too busy talking about what was happening, busy reassuring Cosette everything would be fine. Joly was loudly suggesting that they contact Musichetta, but Combeferre didn't know what good it would do. But Grantaire heard him.

"Things like what?" Grantaire suggested, taking a swig of his beer. "You mean being reckless?"

"Reckless is one word for it," Combeferre said.

"I think it's because she thinks none of us give a shit," Grantaire shrugged. "You know she's had it hard. It's not like any of her family gives a shit what happens to her, you know?"

"I give a shit," Combeferre said, glancing towards the door, wanting her to walk in.

"'Ferre, we _all _give a shit," Grantaire said, waving his beer bottle around.

"If the guy can pick her pocket, he could hurt her," Combeferre pointed out.

"Yeah, he could," Grantaire said, and he shrugged one shoulder. "But there is really not point in worrying about that. It's not going to help her."

Combeferre dragged his hand over the lower half of his face, knowing that there was truth in Grantaire's words.

A second later, he felt something cool push into his hands. He looked up and saw Grantaire's beer bottle pressing against his fingers.

"Have some," Grantaire said. "Might help take your mind off it."

Combeferre wasn't usually one for drinking in the afternoon, but after focusing on the knot of irritation in his stomach he accepted the bottle and took a good swig.


	11. Sympathy and Cider

**_Chapter Eleven_**

**Sympathy and Cider**

A part of Éponine was not surprised when she saw the familiar forms of Enjolras, Bahorel and Feuilly coming down the street towards her. There were looks of concern across their faces, which smoothed out to relief when they saw her.

"Cosette's freaking out, isn't she?" she said.

The three of them stopped walking to let her draw level with them. "Are you okay?" Feuilly asked, his eyes raking over her form.

"It was just a kid," she said, shoving her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. "He gave it back to me."

The three men exchanged glances.

She rolled her eyes. "At least leave the lecture to Combeferre," she said, knowing what the other man was going to say when he saw her.

Bahorel shook his head. "I think that's the only reason I'm not shaking you right now," he said, turning on his heel to go back up the street. Feuilly fell in step next to him, but Enjolras hung back to walk with her.

"I think that Combeferre has every right to be angry," he said.

"I disagree," Éponine said, not looking at the blond man.

"You would disagree," Enjolras said, before speeding up so he was walking alongside Bahorel and Feuilly.

She stared at the back of Enjolras' head, wondering whether out of all of their friends, was it the marble man with apparently no recognition for romance or sex who had worked out her arrangement with Combeferre?

OOO

She'd barely walked through the door to the Café Musain when she found herself being hugged by Cosette, Jehan, and Courfeyrac.

"Fucking hell, guys," she said, shoving them away from her with an awkward chuckle. "Stop overreacting."

"No, _you_ stop being stupid!" Jehan said fiercely, giving Éponine a small push with the heel of his palm against her shoulder. "Anything could have happened!"

"It was a kid," Éponine argued. "Just a schoolboy. He gave me the wallet back."

"What if he _hadn't_ been 'just a schoolboy', though?" Combeferre piped up, getting to his feet. She watched as he handed an empty bottle of beer back to Grantaire. The three people surrounding her stepped back, presumably getting out of the way of the fight they thought was coming. "Kids can carry knives, Éponine."

"He wasn't carrying a knife."

"That is completely besides the point," Combeferre said sharply. "He could have been. It was a stupid and reckless thing for you to do. Was it worth it? I mean, what's so important about your purse that you'd risk running after a potentially very dangerous person?"

"Oh, I don't know," Éponine shot back, planting her hands on her hips. "Maybe it's the fact I have no fucking money apart from what's in that purse?"

"_So_?" Combeferre rolled his eyes. "Éponine, any of us would gladly help you out –"

"I don't need charity," Éponine interrupted. "And you know what else I don't need? To explain myself to anyone. Sure, it was a risky move going after that _child_ but get off your high horse, Combeferre, we've _all_ made fucking stupid decisions in our time and I am not standing here being lectured like I'm a child because I _acted on instinct_. I am here, I'm not hurt, he wasn't dangerous, and it's _fine_, so what's the point in dwelling on what didn't happen?"

"You worried everyone," Combeferre snapped. "You could at least act like you feel a bit bad about the fact you've made Cosette cry with worry and –"

"It is _not_ my fault if people overreact," she snarled back in response.

Combeferre shook his head. "You really can be insufferable sometimes."

"Oh, shut up, you self-righteous prick." Éponine flung her hands in the air. "You know what? I'm going home. As I said, I don't have to answer to _anyone_ here and if you think I'm going to stand here and be talked down to you can fuck off, Combeferre."

She turned on her heel and shoved past Bahorel to get out of the café. She ignored Cosette's call for her to stop and flung the door open, launching herself out onto the street without a glance behind her.

OOO

It was roughly two hours later when someone knocked on her front door. In this time, she'd changed into her comfiest, rattiest pyjamas and was watching bad reality TV whilst making some tiny, ice-cream cones from her clay. She wasn't sure what she was going to do with them yet, but it was helping to keep her mind occupied and taking it off her argument with Combeferre.

When she heard the knocking, she threw the door the dirtiest look she could manage before getting to her feet, momentarily discarding her clay to answer the door. She pressed her eye to the peephole first, and saw Grantaire stood outside, form distorted by the fisheye lens.

She slid back her security chain and the bolts and opened the door the widest it would go, standing aside so that Grantaire could come in. He was carrying two carrier bags, and she could hear the sound of bottles clanking together.

"I'd hoped you'd be in," he said. "I wasn't sure if you were working or not."

"I called in sick," she replied.

"Well, that's fortunate," he said, dumping the bags onto the sofa. He reached inside, rustling the flimsy plastic. He produced a four-pack of cider and held it out to her. "Fancy a drink?"

"How much have you bought?" She shut the door with a click and put the bolt and chain back in place.

"Enough for me and you to get well and truly plastered," he said, blinking a bit too much.

"I think you're already halfway there," she suggested, taking the four-pack from him.

"Okay, then, enough for _you_ to get plastered and for me to be paralytic," he said, flourishing his hands as he strode over to the kitchen. She watched him root in the drawers for her bottle opener, which he carried back to the sofa and set about opening a bottle of beer.

Éponine sighed, the four-pack in her hands feeling too heavy. Balancing it on her knee, she worked one of the cans out of its plastic rings, and placed the other four on her coffee table. She cracked open the can. Grantaire was looking at her with an expectant expression on his face, and he raised his bottle of beer.

"Cheers," he said.

"Cheers," she muttered back, and the bottle and can touched together with a clinking sound. They both took a swig of their respective drinks. Then she flopped back onto the sofa, curling her legs beneath herself.

Grantaire moved the bags off the sofa and sat down next to her.

"What are you watching?"

"I don't know – some shit," Éponine shrugged. "I think they're getting married and they have some money to plan it and they keep on arguing. I give their marriage six months, tops."

"Sounds riveting," Grantaire said, rolling his eyes.

"I know why you've come over," Éponine said after a few moments.

"Oh, you do, do you?" Grantaire slid his dark eyes towards her, an amused sparkle in their depths.

"It doesn't take a genius to work it out. Did someone send you?"

"I'm hurt." He held his beer bottle over where his heart would be. "Do you not think I care enough about you to come of my own volition?"

"Come on, let's get it over with." She took another swig of cider before setting the can down on the coffee table, right next to the board with her clay ice cream cones on it. "The lecture."

"Right, no one sent me," Grantaire said, twisting his body so he was facing her properly. "I think I need to reiterate that, although we had to physically restrain Combeferre twice from storming around here to carry on your little slanging match."

"I wouldn't have let him in," Éponine declared.

Grantaire's laugh was loud and barking. "Yeah, right, Éponine," he snorted. "You know, I'm surprised you left the café before without lamping him. I think if he came around here looking for a fight you'd give him one."

Éponine pursed her lips and didn't acknowledge his opinion with an answer. Grantaire's grin grew wider and, worse than that, it grew unbelievably smug.

"However, I do agree with Combeferre on several points," Grantaire continued, and the smile slipped somewhat, growing serious. "It _was _a stupid thing to do, even if our worst fears didn't become a reality. The point that it so easily could have ended badly for you is one worth acknowledging, Éponine."

"I'm not denying it was stupid, I just don't want a lecture on it," Éponine spat, angrily swigging cider. "I'm an adult. I make decisions for myself and everyone else just has to deal with them, they don't _have _to like them."

"So we're not allowed to worry?" Grantaire put his bottle of beer down on the coffee table.

"I didn't mean that."

"Sooner or later, you're going to have to accept the fact that we all care about you," Grantaire said with a heavy sigh. "I know you don't think it, but we do. All of us. We care about you, and if something _had_ happened today it would have completely destroyed the fabric of our little group."

Éponine rolled her eyes. For the first time, something akin to irritation passed over Grantaire's face.

"I'm serious," he said. "Why is it so hard for you to accept that people care about you?"

She looked at him, not sure how to answer that. She wriggled her shoulders and took a long gulp of cider.

Grantaire nudged her knee with his. "Okay, so I know why its so hard," he said, in a soft voice, "But…"

"I don't think that this conversation is going anywhere," Éponine cut him off. "I've heard it all before."

"Fine." He snatched his bottle of beer back up off the coffee table and tipped the alcohol into his mouth. "But let me say one more thing."

"Do I really get a choice?" Éponine countered.

"Don't be so hard on Combeferre," Grantaire said. "He cares about you in a different way to the rest of us."

She narrowed her eyes at Grantaire. The corners of his mouth quirked upwards. "Hey," he said, "I'm not as oblivious as the rest of them. Why else would Combeferre have suddenly been giving you a hell of a lot of lifts home?"

Éponine's face flushed.

"I think its sweet," he cooed, waggling his fingers in her face. "You and Combeferre. Who'd have thought it?"

"It's just a casual thing," Éponine insisted, pressing her face into her knees to hide her reddening cheeks. "We're not in a relationship or anything."

Grantaire hummed. "Whatever," he said. "Just, as I said, don't be hard on Combeferre. He cares, that's all."

She lifted her head and drained her can, squeezing the air out of it, the noise of metal bucking inwards grating on her ears. She chucked it over her shoulder, over the back of the sofa, the can skimming across the carpet.

"Ready to get paralytic?" she said, not sure what to say to his last statement.

Grantaire grinned, lifting his bottle into the air. "Only if you're ready to get plastered."

She winked at him. "I'll give it my best shot."

OOO

Two hours later, and Éponine and Grantaire decided to venture out to pick up an Indian takeaway to soak up the alcohol they'd ingested. Éponine knew she wasn't drunk – she was tipsy, her head spinning a little, but she wasn't drunk. Grantaire was way past drunk and well on the way to his desired goal of paralytic, but he was so used to being drunk it wasn't immediately obvious he'd been drinking. It had been his idea to get food, and he offered to pay, so Éponine was happy to go along with it.

They hadn't phoned ahead, so they ended up sat in the front of the shop waiting for their food to be prepared. Grantaire sat on the wooden bench meant for those waiting, whilst Éponine sat on the windowsill, flicking through the menu as if it was a piece of literature.

"Feeling better?" Grantaire drawled, linking his fingers together behind his head.

"Hmm?" Éponine looked up from reading the description of tandoori king prawns and frowned at him.

"I mean, have you calmed down," he said, talking through a loud yawn.

"I've been calm for ages," she replied, rolling her eyes and beginning to read the description of a makhan murghi.

"I mean, calmed down as in if Combeferre walked through the door right now you wouldn't start yelling at him?" Grantaire rephrased, a slow smile settling onto his mouth.

"I wouldn't if he didn't start yelling at me first," she said. "Why? He's not going to, is he? You haven't told him to come here, have you?"

"Oh, sure." Grantaire slid his hands into the pocket of his jeans and slid out his phone. "I texted him before and said come round to the Indian near Éponine's so you can start shouting at each other for my entertainment. _Of course_ I haven't. I was just wondering."

"No, I feel a lot better now," she said, watching Grantaire enter his passcode and start to mess about with his phone, before looking back down at the menu in her hands. "Not as…angry. But, you know, that might be to do with the cider."

"Alcohol can help with that," Grantaire said, nodding. "At least you're not Enjolras. Have you ever seen Enjolras drunk?"

She shook her head in response.

"It's funny, but he gets angry. I won't be slipping vodka into his coke again, that's for sure." Grantaire let out a small puff of breath. "According to Courfeyrac, Combeferre's calmed down in a fashion but has began cleaning their flat from top to bottom. He's currently arranging Courfeyrac's sock drawer, apparently."

Éponine snorted. "Really?"

"Really," Grantaire said. "Well, according to Courfeyrac. It all depends on how much you believe him and if you ignore his fondness for exaggeration."

She bit her lip. She felt a little bit guilty that she'd wound up Combeferre to the point of going near Courfeyrac's sock drawer. With a sigh, she put the menu to one side and, glancing to see what the bored looking man behind the counter was doing, put her feet up onto the arm of the bench Grantaire was sat on.

"Oh, and he snapped at Enjolras." Grantaire's eyes widened. "Jesus, Éponine, you've really got to Combeferre if he's having a go at Enjolras."

Éponine groaned and tipped her head back, the crown of her skull tapping lightly against the window behind her head. "Stop it," she warned.

"Stop what?" Grantaire's eyes slid from his phone to Éponine, and his face was expressionless.

"Trying to make me feel bad." She nudged his arm with her toe.

"That's not what I'm trying to do at all," he objected. "I'm just passing on what they're telling me. Oh, and Joly's been in touch to tell you that Musichetta wants you to answer her texts."

"I left my phone at home," Éponine said. Her head was beginning to hurt.

"Just passing on a message," Grantaire said, just as another man came out from the kitchen and handed a bulging plastic carrier bag to the man behind the counter. "That's us, I think."

Grantaire paid for their food whilst Éponine held the bag, hovering near the door. They walked out together, as Éponine's stomach began to rumble and growl with the promise of being fed soon.

"And for the record, even if you're not _trying_ to make me feel guilty, you've succeeded," she said, as they walked back to her flat. "Congratulations."

"Get over yourself," he said, throwing an arm around her shoulder. His action knocked her slightly off balance due to the weight of him, and they both stumbled off the pavement into the road.

She shoved at him, hopping back onto the pavement. He laughed, also returning to the pavement but preferring to walk on the very edge of the kerb, as if it were a tightrope.

"I mean it, though," he said. "Get over yourself."

Éponine huffed under her breath and glared at him in response.

OOO

Food eaten and more cider downed, they found themselves watching a crap monster film on some random channel, guffawing at the terrible special effects and bizarre plotline and dialogue.

"That doesn't – that doesn't even make any sense," Grantaire said loudly, pointing his finger at the television screen. He was lying on his stomach on the sofa, feet bare and waving in the air, whilst Éponine was curled on the floor, wrapped in her duvet. "Like…You've still got a box full of breakfast bars. Why…Why are they starting to eat each other so early? It's only twenty minutes in!"

"None of it makes sense," Éponine snorted in reply. "Why did they leave their coach hanging upside down from his chair when he was still alive?"

"That's a good point," Grantaire agreed. "Also, why was he Scottish?"

"Oh, here we go," Éponine said, as the film changed to a different location. She squinted to read the titles on the screen. "Apparently, we're in the mountain rescue centre."

"Hah, as if that lot will get _rescued_," Grantaire said. "They're all destined to get torn apart by the monster."

"Hey, Mr. Mountain-Rescue clearly disagrees," Éponine chuckled, gulping back cider. She knew she should probably slow down, but she'd reached that point where the alcohol was going down too easy and now she'd started she didn't see the point in stopping.

"Mr. Mountain-Rescue clearly hasn't watched as many of these films as I have," Grantaire said. "I've got a box set."

"You should lend it to me," Éponine said. "I'm always in need of high-quality horror such as this."

The TV went to adverts. Éponine stretched out her legs, letting the duvet fall away from her shoulders. Yawning, she got to her feet and flopped down onto the sofa, on top of Grantaire's legs.

"Ouch!" he yelled. He rolled onto his back. "Fuck off, Éponine, you're too heavy."

She smacked his thigh. "Fuck off yourself, you prick."

He sat up properly. "Are you looking for a fight?"

Éponine stuck her tongue out at him, and then he was lunging at her, fingers tickling her ribs. She squirmed and shrieked, pummelling at his back with her fists and clawing at his hands.

"Do you apologise for nearly crushing my legs?" he demanded, slightly breathless from their struggle. He now had hold of her wrists, but she was kicking with her legs.

"No," she said, wriggling to try and force her arms out of his hands. "Get off, dickhead, I –"

He grinned at her, all teeth and slight hysteria in his eyes, and she knew he wasn't going to stop tickling her any time soon. So she leaned up and pressed her mouth to his, their teeth knocking together. In surprise, he released her wrists and kissed her back for all of three seconds before pulling away.

His eyes were wide, and he crawled backwards. She remained lying down, but propped herself up on her elbows.

"Should have let go of me when you had the chance," she said, smugly.

"So that's the only reason you kissed me?" Grantaire said, slowly. There was a wariness in his tone, and she snorted.

"Of course," she said. "Why else?"

"Thank fuck for that," he said, relief washing over his face. "Just to clear things up, I only see you as a friend. You're really not my type."

"That's good, because you're really not my type either," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"No, because your type is geeky and wears glasses and is called Combeferre," Grantaire said, swinging his legs over the edge of the sofa. He reached out for another bottle of beer.

"Shut up," she muttered.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes as he pried the lid off his bottle. "_So_ your type," he murmured under his breath.

"Shut up," she repeated. "Look, the students are deciding to split up to look for food."

"Fools," Grantaire sighed, flopping back into the sofa. "Why are they doing that? They've just eaten their team mascot, they don't need food straight away. And why are they all forgetting the breakfast bars?"

Éponine settled back into the cushions of the sofa, satisfied that she had – for now, at least – managed to turn the conversation away from her relationship with Combeferre.


	12. Phone Calls

**_Chapter Twelve_**

**Phone Calls**

By the time the film had finished, Grantaire had fallen asleep, his head pillowed on his hands and a puddle of drool collecting on her sofa. Éponine fetched her blanket from her room and draped it over him, chuckling to herself when she heard him begin to snore.

She made a half-hearted attempt at tidying up some of the bottles and cans, but realised her head was too woozy; she collected her duvet from where it lay, still heaped on the floor of her living room, and took it back into her bedroom.

Éponine wrapped the duvet around her shoulders as she entered her room, spinning as she reached her bed and letting herself fall back onto the mattress. She reached over to switch off the lamp next to her bed, and then proceeded to stare up at the ceiling, watching it spin.

She wasn't sure how long she lay there, but she began to drift in and out of sleep. Her limbs felt deliciously heavy, and she felt very content, just lying there. A pleased sigh left her mouth as she rolled onto her side, folding her legs and tucking them up against her chest.

It was sometime later when she was disturbed from her lazy, half-asleep state by the shrill ringing of her phone, cutting through the silence of the night. It stopped after a while, as she was determined to ignore it, but then it started up again. With a small grunt, she uncurled herself and shoved the duvet away from her body, clambering out of the bed.

She swore under her breath as she stomped through to the living room. A quick glance towards the sofa told her that Grantaire was dead to the world, sleeping like a baby. Her phone lay on one of the kitchen counters where she'd left it a few hours earlier, the screen glowing in the darkness of the room. The ringing stopped as she began to walk over to the kitchen area.

"Fuck's sake," she mumbled under her breath, raking her fingers through her dark hair. She turned on her heel to walk back through to her room. Then the phone began to ring again.

Sighing, she turned around and strode over to the phone, snatching it up. She didn't check the caller ID, just pressed the call button.

"This had better be an emergency as I'm drunk and trying to sleep," she snapped, not giving the person on the end of the line a chance to speak.

There was no answer.

"Hello?" she began again. "Seriously, I'm _not_ in the mood for this. What do you want?"

There was still no answer. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Courfeyrac, is this you?"

That was when she heard something. Not a voice, answering her, but just…breathing. Soft, quiet, gentle breathing. For a few moments, the breathing sounded like it was right behind her. A chill went down her spine. She spun around on instinct, but there was no one there.

"Who is this?" she demanded.

The breathing became a little louder, and then whoever it was hung up.

She lowered the phone from her ear, feeling sick and shaky. She stared at the phone like it was an object from another planet. She swallowed, checked her recent calls. The number was withheld.

Another chill shot down her spine. She flung the phone away from her. It hit the countertop with a loud clatter, and then she wiped her sweating hands on her pyjama pants.

_Just go back to bed_, a warm voice said in the back of her head. _Ignore it. It's nothing. Just a prank call, probably Courfeyrac or Bahorel thinking they're funny. Just go back to bed._

The warm voice did nothing to shake the tension in her shoulders or the uncomfortable prickling feeling on the back of her neck and down her spine that she was being watched. For the first time, she truly wished that Combeferre was there, and that she was going back to a bed into a warm pair of strong, protective arms.

But he wasn't there, because the last time she'd seen him she'd shouted at him and he was probably still angry with her.

She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself. Her fingers could feel the gooseflesh that had risen on her skin. She then moved fast, quickly checking to make sure that the front door was locked properly and then checked all of her windows as well. That done, she returned to the living room.

She hesitated for a few moments before leaning over the back of the sofa and shaking Grantaire's shoulder. It took a few shakes, but eventually he woke up, blinking sleepily.

"Wha'?" He rolled onto his back.

"Come on," she said. "You're sleeping in my bed tonight."

He came to his senses, blinking a bit more rapidly as he woke up properly. "What? Why?"

"Don't argue, it's got to be better than the sofa," she said, bracing her hands on the back of the sofa.

"Well, that's true," he ground out, stretching his arms above his head. He swung his legs over the edge of the sofa and stood up. The blanket she had fetched for him pooled on the floor at his feet. "What's brought this on?"

"Nothing," she said, shrugging. "Just…Come on."

He yawned and ambled over to her bedroom. She picked up the blanket from the floor and followed him in, shutting the door behind them after giving her living room and kitchen one last look to make sure no one was lurking in the corners.

Grantaire lay down in her bed without protest, on his stomach, his hands tucked beneath the pillow. She curled up next to him, never having been so glad to have company before. It wasn't the one she wanted, but there was comfort in having a warm, solid body next to her; it made her feel like she wasn't alone, especially in the face of that phone call.

With a small sigh, she inched her body closer to Grantaire's and closed her eyes.

OOO

Sleep that night did not come easy and it certainly didn't come fast. The pleasant haze she had been in before the phone call did not claim her again. When she did sleep, it was fitful and restless, her mind filled with bad dreams. They were dreams of fists and sinister, cherry-red smiles, dreams of spiteful words and mocking laughter.

She woke up with her skin crawling, feeling phantom hands on her shoulders, hips, the back of her head, knotted in her hair, yanking her head backwards. Beside her, Grantaire was still snoring, in the exact position she'd left him in. Her skin felt clammy. She climbed out of the bed and headed straight for the bathroom.

Considering the amount she'd had to drink, she'd expected a hangover. But it seemed her body had decided to ignore the alcohol she'd ingested and focus on reminding her of bad, bad times from her past.

She showered quickly, rinsing the sweat from her skin. As she showered, she locked the bad dreams, the sound of the person breathing down the phone, and the ensuing fear away in different compartments in her brain. It wasn't going to help her focusing on them, not now, not today, not when she had Combeferre to speak to.

So instead of focusing on the past and everything else that phone call had brought back for her, she focused on Combeferre, and planned out exactly what she was going to say to him.

When she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a huge towel with water dripping from her hair, Grantaire had apparently woken and left her bedroom. She could hear the sounds of him moving around in her living room. She busied herself with slipping on her underwear and dressing in jeans and a T-shirt. She padded out into the main flat drying her hair with her towel, finding Grantaire munching on cereal whilst watching a chat show.

"Morning," she said.

"Afternoon," he corrected, nodding his head to the clock on the wall above the front door. It was just after one in the afternoon; she must have got more sleep than she'd thought. She looked away from the clock and focused back on Grantaire. His black hair was sticking up in every direction imaginable, and there were bags under his eyes, stark and obvious against his pale skin.

"You look like shit," she told him, joining him on the sofa.

"Unfortunately, I can't say the same for you," he mumbled through a mouthful of cereal. "Drowned rat really suits you."

She clicked her tongue at him and winked. "I do try."

"So, any plans for today?" he said. "Work, maybe?"

"Day off," she said.

"You always seem to be having days off," he muttered, before saying, "So what are you going to do?"

"I was thinking of stopping by the Café Musain," she said, wrapping her towel around her hands.

"I hope that means what I think it means," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

Éponine narrowed her eyes at him.

"Hey," he said, defensively. "What are you looking at me like that for?"

"You know why," she answered, running her fingers through her damp hair. "And yes, before you ask, I do plan on talking to Combeferre at some point, if I see him."

"Good girl." Grantaire wrapped his mouth around the rim of the bowl and tipped the milk down his throat. "Do you mind me borrowing your cereal, by the way? I didn't think you would. I'll buy you some more."

"It's just cereal," she muttered.

"I'll buy you some more," he repeated, then said, "And seriously, I'm glad you're going to talk to Combeferre. It's the best thing to do before he starts snapping at Enjolras again."

"That's a good point," Éponine said, pulling a face. "I forgot about that little detail. I've never seen them argue before."

"You really don't want to, it's not a pretty sight," Grantaire advised, drinking more of the leftover milk.

Grantaire headed over to his flat not long after. Éponine dried her hair properly, threw on her coat, and left for the Café Musain.

She arrived to find the café empty of her friends. She ordered herself a hot chocolate with marshmallows and cream, and took it over to their usual sofa in the corner. She was waiting for about half an hour before Jehan arrived, a book of poetry tucked under his arm. They exchanged pleasantries before he set about reading, leaving her messing with her phone again. Jehan was followed by Bahorel and Feuilly, and then by the one she wanted to see, Combeferre.

He said hello to everyone but her. That immediately made her feel like chucking her hot chocolate over his head, but she refrained. When he sat on the other sofa, she got up and squeezed in between him and Bahorel. Thankfully, Bahorel (for once) got the message and moved to sit on the other sofa.

"Can we talk?" she said, sipping her hot chocolate.

Combeferre glanced at her. Then he sighed. "I suppose we have to," he said. She noticed that their friends had all become very quiet and realised that they were staring at them both.

"Fuck off," Éponine said sharply, and the three of the busied themselves with doing other things.

Éponine twisted her body to face Combeferre properly. "Okay," she began. "I'm sorry for worrying you yesterday. I now accept I should not have been so reckless, and…I shouldn't have called you a self-righteous prick."

Combeferre's mouth twisted, and he nodded. His face softened. "I'm sorry too," he said, in a quiet voice. "I shouldn't have shouted at you like that. Like you said, you're not a child, and it's not my place."

She touched the back of his hand in a brief and gentle caress. "Sorry," she repeated.

"Sorry," he echoed, giving her a slightly hesitant smile. He lowered his voice another octave and leaned in slightly closer. "I missed you."

She thought back to how frightened she'd felt and how much she'd wanted him to hold her. "I missed you, too," she said, and she was surprised by how much she actually meant those four words.

Before she could say anything else to Combeferre, a shrill ringing issued from her pocket. She could feel her phone vibrating against her thigh. Dread slithered its way down her spine at the sound as she was transported right back to the early hours of the morning, hearing the soft, quiet, gentle breathing down her phone.

Combeferre must have felt her body tense where it was pressed against his, because he gave her a confused look. She tried to give him her most reassuring smile and slid her phone out of her pocket.

The screen told her that it was an unknown number. The dread on her spine found its way into her throat, and for a few brief seconds, she feared she might start to have a panic attack. A hand touched her knee gently; a gesture from Combeferre to tell her that it was going to be okay.

"I'm just going to take this outside," she said, standing up and pressing answer. She held the phone to her ear, edging away from the sofas and out of earshot, going to stand by the counter where she rested her elbows on the countertop. "Hello?" she said in a cautious, wary voice.

"Hello?" a woman's voice said, and the dread in Éponine's throat dissipated, relief settling over her. "Is this Éponine Thenardier?"

"Yes," Éponine said. "Who is this?"

"My name is Juliette Moreau," the woman said. "I'm Gavroche's adoptive mother."

Relief swiftly turned to excitement.

"Oh, hello," Éponine said. "I wasn't…Sorry, I wasn't expecting this phone call, that's all."

"Sorry, have I caught you at a bad time?" Juliette's voice was warm and concerned.

"No," Éponine said, shaking her head even though Juliette could not see her. "No, not at all."

"That's good, then." There was a brief pause, and then Juliette said, "As you can probably guess, I'm phoning to arrange a meeting between you and Gavroche. He wanted to phone himself, but he's busy at school, so naturally…"

"I don't mind," Éponine said, not sure what else she could possibly say to Juliette's statement. "What sort of thing did you have in mind?"

"Well, that's up to you," Juliette said. "I'm not going to impose. I'm going to drop Gavroche off with you and give you time to get to know each other. I think Gavroche would be annoyed if I hung around – he'd probably accuse me of interfering – so I'm happy for you to choose when and where and how you see him."

Éponine floundered for a few moments, unsure of what to say. What did teenage boys like to do? She turned to stare at the sofas, flicking her eyes over her male friends. Her eyes met Combeferre's, and he mouthed, "Are you okay?"

She nodded at him, and turned around again. "We could…Go…Bowling?" She winced at her own suggestion. He was fifteen, not five. But that said, Courfeyrac was in his twenties and he was the most enthusiastic bowling participant she'd ever met in her life. Was bowling childish? It might be childish to fifteen year olds, she mused, and then realised that Juliette was speaking.

"…be fine with Gavroche," she caught the end, and pressed her thumb to her mouth.

"No, no, no, sorry, I just said the first thing that came into my head," she said. "Um, we could just meet up at a…café, or something. Or a restaurant. I know! I could take him for pizza," she suggested, thinking of the bright, colourful pizza restaurant she went to with Cosette.

"A restaurant would certainly give the two of you chance to talk," Juliette said pleasantly.

Éponine told her the name of the pizza restaurant she had in mind, and Juliette responded that she'd been there before. They settled on the coming Saturday (Éponine chose the date because she was getting paid on the Friday before), at midday.

"Gavroche will be very excited," Juliette said. Éponine could hear the smile in her voice. "He's been very…restless, lately. Wanting to know more about his birth parents, you know…My husband and I, we didn't know what to tell him, and I've got to say I was happier when Gavroche suggested meeting his sisters. And he was so pleased when he got your letter, Éponine, I can't even begin to tell you."

Éponine drummed her fingers on the countertop. "Out of interest," she said, "Are there any…Are there any things you'd prefer I didn't mention about my parents?"

Juliette went quiet. "My husband and I are aware of the nature of your parents' abuse," she said, eventually. "As well as…_other_ things about them. My husband works in hospitality, you see…"

Éponine bit her lip. "I see."

"But don't think that makes us worry about _you_, Éponine," Juliette hastened to add. "Having read your letter and spoken to you today, you seem like a lovely girl. What I'm trying to say is, we've…we've never _told_ Gavroche the reasons he went into care. That is why we worried when he started to ask about them; we were worried he'd want to see them, but more so that he'd managed to put them on a pedestal."

"No, I get what you mean," Éponine replied. "But…If he asks, what should I say?"

"If you wish to tell him the truth, you may," Juliette said.

Éponine had the horrible feeling she was almost being used to tell Gavroche difficult things that Juliette and her husband didn't want to deal with. On one hand, she wasn't sure if she was capable of telling Gavroche – but on the other, she wanted to hear it from her, the one who _really_ knew the truth.

Maybe then he'd put to bed any stupid ideas he had about meeting his birth parents. He'd had a decent upbringing thanks to the Moreaus, and she'd be damned before she let the Thenardiers ruin it by manipulating their son like they'd manipulated her and Azelma.

"Okay," Éponine said. "I understand."

After discussing a few more things, Éponine hung up the phone. She stared at it for a few moments, before excitement at what she'd just arranged took over. A huge grin stretching across her face, she spun around to go back over to the sofas and tell Combeferre the good news.


	13. You Poor Bastard

**_Chapter Thirteen_**

**You Poor Bastard**

"Is everything all right?" Combeferre asked, a bright smile on his face as she dropped back down onto the sofa.

Their other friends were all watching her as well, curiosity obvious in their eyes. Jehan cupped his chin in his hand as she clasped her phone between her hands.

"Everything is…" She groped in her mind for the right word to describe how excited she was feeling. "Brilliant," she finished. "Everything is brilliant, actually." She cleared her throat. "That was my younger brother's adopted mother. I'm meeting him on Saturday."

"That's fantastic," Jehan beamed.

"That really is good news," Combeferre agreed. "What are you doing with him?"

"Well." Éponine sat back in the sofa, and bit her lip. "We're going for pizza. Teenage boys like pizza, right?"

"Everyone loves pizza," Bahorel said, with a puzzled look on his face. "Why would you think he wouldn't?"

"I don't know anything about teenage boys," Éponine replied.

Combeferre looked pointedly at the three men opposite him. "Despite them being in their twenties, there are three very good examples of the male teenage mindset sat opposite you," he said. She snorted.

"And there's a fourth sat next to you," Feuilly shot back. "But Combeferre makes a good point – take it from me, there's really not much difference between any of us and your brother, I bet. Just think about what Courfeyrac likes and you've probably hit the nail on the head."

"Well, I said we'd go to that pizza place near the cinema," Éponine said, crossing her legs. "It's going to be _so_ weird."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Jehan asked. She hesitated, very aware all of a sudden that she'd never really discussed her family with anyone in this group who wasn't Marius, Cosette, Musichetta or Combeferre.

"He was three, roughly…I think." She kept her eyes on her knees. "Anyway, it's been a long time. I really wouldn't know him if he walked in here now and started trying to talk to me."

"When you get to know him better, you should bring him in here," Jehan suggested. "So we can all meet him."

"A male Éponine," Bahorel murmured, looking thoughtful. "I wonder what that looks like."

"I'm picturing Éponine with short hair," Feuilly suggested, looking like he was trying to be helpful.

"When I last saw him, Gavroche was blond," Éponine cut in. "Oh, god, Courfeyrac's going to be in his element, isn't he?"

Combeferre snorted. "He'll turn your brother into his protégé."

"He'll have him picking up women in a heartbeat," Feuilly said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Who'll have who picking women up in a heartbeat?" the man himself interrupted, appearing behind Éponine and Combeferre's sofa and sticking his head between theirs. He rested his chin on Combeferre's shoulder. "Is this you, Combeferre?" Courfeyrac said. "Are you finally giving me free reign to help you get laid?"

Combeferre jerked his shoulder upwards, forcing Courfeyrac to leap backwards. "Don't be ridiculous," he said.

"They were talking about my little brother," Éponine said, twisting in her seat to look up at him. "I'm meeting him on Saturday."

"I forgot you _had_ a little brother," Courfeyrac said, walking around the sofas to join Bahorel and Feuilly on their sofa.

"Yeah, well, as I was saying to these guys I haven't seen him in ages," Éponine said.

"I suggested she could bring him here so we can meet him," Jehan said.

Courfeyrac's eyes lit up brighter than an eager child on Christmas morning, confronted with a gigantic pile of presents. "How old is he?"

"He's fourteen, fifteen," Éponine said. "Not old enough to go to clubs and pick up women with you, Courfeyrac, before you get any ideas into your head. And if I find out you're responsible for helping my little brother losing his virginity I will hurt you."

Courfeyrac flapped a hand in the air, dismissing her threat. "Anyone would think he was your sister," he said.

"Gender is irrelevant," Éponine said. "He's my younger brother. Although, if I found out you were responsible for my little sister losing her virginity I would also hurt you." She highly doubted that Azelma was a virgin, considering the company she kept, but if Azelma ever escaped their parents' hold and came to her for help it was good to have the threat out there.

"You have a sister?" If it were possible, Courfeyrac's eyes lit up a little brighter, and Bahorel's head perked up a little.

"Yes," Éponine said, slowly, "But we don't get on. And even if we did – _I will hurt you_, Courfeyrac. And you, Bahorel. All of you, actually. If you ever meet my sister, she is off-limits."

"If she looks like you, that'll be a hard promise to keep," Courfeyrac said, sending a wink in her direction. Beside her, she heard Combeferre mutter something under his breath.

"You're such a creep, sometimes," Éponine retorted, causing laughter from their other friends. Courfeyrac smiled. "And your point doesn't make sense – you've never hit on _me_. Thankfully."

"_Thankfully_?" Courfeyrac held a hand over his heart. "I am _wounded_, Éponine. Wounded. My heart is _bleeding_ right now, Éponine, at your cruel, cruel words."

"Word," Éponine corrected. "I presume you're referring to the fact I'm thankful you've never tried to hit on me."

"For the preservation of my ego I'm going to assume it's because you're incredibly, wildly in love with me but don't want to ruin our friendship," Courfeyrac said, raising one eyebrow.

"I'm afraid your ego is going to take a hit, then," Éponine snorted, raising an eyebrow right back at him. "I just don't find you attractive."

"Dammit," Courfeyrac murmured, pressing his fingers to his mouth. "I am genuinely hurt, Éponine. I might just go to the toilet and cry."

"As long as you cry quietly, I'm really not bothered," Éponine replied.

His response to that was to stick his tongue out at her, so she stuck hers out as well. Before anything more could be said, the doors to the café opened and Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet piled in, followed not long after by Enjolras carrying a cardboard boxed that turned out to be filled with pamphlets concerning a protest he was holding over the closure of a local homeless shelter.

He began to give them a lecture on the matter as he showed them the leaflets, designed by Grantaire, who came in halfway through the speech; Éponine accepted one and made a show of reading through the details rather than listen to Enjolras' speech.

"Do you want to get out of here?" a voice murmured in her ear. She glanced up into Combeferre's face, surprise etched all over her face.

"So forward," she mocked in a low voice, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

He was keeping his eyes on the pamphlet in his hands. "I'd like to make up for lost time," he said.

"One night," she reminded him.

"One night was too much," he grinned. "Come on, Grantaire's on one of his rants now, I think we can slip out without Enjolras noticing."

Pushing their leaflets to one side, the pair of them hurried out of the café, managing to go unnoticed by their friends who were too busy watching the drama unfold right before them.

OOO

"All I'm saying is, someone _really_ needs to have a word with Grantaire," Feuilly said sensibly as he, Courfeyrac, Jehan and Bahorel climbed the stairs to the apartment Courfeyrac shared with Combeferre.

"We've all _had _words with him," Courfeyrac said, his own tone exasperated. "All of us, and no one's going to get through to him."

"It was a low blow what he did," Jehan said. "I can understand why Enjolras got so angry."

They had all been reading the new leaflets for Enjolras' latest campaign when they realised that Grantaire had altered the text on one of the pages. Instead of the text being Combeferre's carefully worded explanation on why the homeless shelter was being closed, it had instead been Grantaire's explanation on why the protest would prove futile and people shouldn't bother attending.

The ensuing argument had been one of the most explosive any of them had witnessed between Grantaire and Enjolras, and there had been _many_ of these arguments. It had resulted in Enjolras storming out of the café, leaving his box of pamphlets behind, and then Grantaire made himself scarce before anyone of them could reprimand him.

Musichetta had volunteered her services to find Éponine and send her looking for Grantaire, and Joly and Bossuet decided to go with her. The rest of them had opted to search for Combeferre, which had led them all to his apartment.

"When did Combeferre leave, anyway?" Courfeyrac asked, sticking his key into the lock.

"You know what would be really awkward?" Jehan piped up. "What if he'd gone to the toilet and comes out and finds us all gone?"

"Too bad for Combeferre," Courfeyrac said.

"The only way he could be gone that long was if he was taking a –" Bahorel began, but then stopped. A frown marred the broad-shouldered man's brow. "What the _fuck_ was that noise?"

'That noise' was what sounded suspiciously like a long, drawn-out moan.

They all stared at each other with wide eyes. Courfeyrac held one finger over his mouth for silence and he pushed the apartment door open. As silently as the four of them could manage, they shuffled into his flat. Courfeyrac shut the door behind them, just as the moan they could hear escalated in volume and became more of a scream.

"What the fuck?" Courfeyrac mouthed at his friends. They all looked as bewildered as he felt. The moan, or scream, definitely belonged to a woman, and it was coming from Combeferre's room. The door was firmly shut, and as if they had all thought of it at the same time, the four of them rushed towards it, pressing their ears up against the door.

"_He has a girl in there_," Bahorel hissed, as said girl continued to let out some high-pitched, breathy mewls.

"Combeferre has a girl in there," Courfeyrac echoed in an awed voice.

"A girl," Jehan murmured.

"In his room," Feuilly finished.

"_Oh, fuck, yes_!" the woman cried out. Now they were closer to the door, they could also hear what sounded like the bed's headboard banging against the wall.

"And she actually sounds like she's having a good time," Courfeyrac frowned.

"She could be faking it," Feuilly suggested.

"Or Combeferre could be a brilliant fuck," Bahorel said, as the banging against the wall increased in tempo. He wrinkled his nose. "Um, can we back away from the door now? I feel a bit – you know, they're having sex in there, and, as much as I love you guys, I don't particularly want to listen to any of you have sex."

The four of them backed away from the door and sank into the sofas. There was one more long, throaty moan, and then the flat went very quiet.

"I feel…confused," Courfeyrac whispered.

"A bit traumatised," Jehan added.

"Combeferre's like our dad." Feuilly stared at them, in horror. "We should have left the flat when we heard the first noise."

"I thought someone might have broken in," Courfeyrac objected.

"What, and started moaning?" Bahorel shook his head. "I've just heard _Combeferre_ making some girl _scream_ and I don't know how to handle it. I can't bleach my mind, can I?"

"It's not recommended," Jehan said in a sympathetic voice. He patted the larger man on the knee.

All of a sudden, the door to Combeferre's room was flung open, and Éponine stepped out, wearing a huge T-shirt that went down to her mid-thigh. Her hair was sticking up in all directions, and her cheeks were flushed, and when she saw them all sat there she let out a small squeak and disappeared back into Combeferre's room. The door slammed shut behind her.

"Was that…" Courfeyrac put his head in his hands.

"It just got worse. Now I feel like I just walked in on my parents having sex," Bahorel whispered.

The door opened once more but this time it was Combeferre stood in the doorway, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He was wearing his jeans, the fly undone, and no shirt. He folded his arms over his chest.

Courfeyrac stood and jabbed a finger in his direction. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Combeferre raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent. A moment later, Éponine popped her head around his body, her cheek pressed against his arm.

"We weren't aware we had to," she said. "How long have you all been sat there, anyway?"

"Only a few minutes," Feuilly said, his cheeks bright pink.

"But I'm your best friend," Courfeyrac whined. He pouted.

"Oh, give over, Courf," Éponine said, rolling her eyes. She gently pushed past Combeferre, stepping into the living room. She walked over to the kitchen area and retrieved a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water from the tap. "Anyway, I'm surprised none of you noticed. Did none of you think it was weird that we all happened to disappear from the café at the same time?"

"Speaking from the café, Grantaire –" Feuilly began, but Courfeyrac cut him off.

"You've been fucking for ages, haven't you?" He directed this question at Éponine, seeming to have realised that he was getting no answers from Combeferre on the matter.

She took a sip of her water and shrugged one shoulder. "I suppose we have. Not that it's really any of your business." She eyed Jehan, who had his phone out and seemed to be frantically writing a text message.

"I can't believe you didn't tell any of us!" Courfeyrac planted his hands on his hips, his lower lip jutting out even further, if it were possible, than it had been before.

"It's really not a big deal." Éponine rolled her eyes. "Trust you to overdramatise the whole thing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and get dressed."

Combeferre stepped aside so she could go back into his room, and then he closed the door. He turned his narrowed eyes back on his friends.

"Courfeyrac, be quiet and sit down," he ordered. "As Éponine said, it's not really any of your business what Éponine and I get up to in our spare time. Because of that, you're all going to behave like _adults _– and yes, Courfeyrac, I mean you – and you're not going to pester either of us about it."

Courfeyrac flopped back onto the sofa and groaned, putting his arm over his eyes. "I can't believe I didn't _notice_."

"Now I know it does seem rather obvious," Jehan commented, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Joly agrees, and Musichetta apparently had her suspicions."

"This is what I mean," Combeferre sighed. "I don't want anyone blowing it out of proportion." He lowered his voice to more of a whisper. "It's – you know, just a casual – casual thing, and…"

Courfeyrac dropped his arm from his eyes. "You poor bastard," he said, before Feuilly cut into the conversation.

"This is all grand, but we have a bigger issue on our hands right now," he said. "Combeferre, Enjolras and Grantaire had an argument when you left and Enjolras stormed off. We thought you might want to go and find him."

Combeferre sighed heavily, but he looked relieved that the subject had changed. "How long ago was this?"

"Well, the argument blew up not long after Grantaire arrived, so, about an hour ago?" Feuilly shrugged. "We just thought it was something you should deal with. And Éponine…"

"Should find Grantaire," Combeferre finished. "Right. Got you." Without another word, he slipped back into his room.

The four of them all stared at each other. Jehan couldn't have stopped the massive grin that spread across his face, even if he'd wanted to.

"That," he said, "Is one of the cutest things I think has happened in our group since I've met any of you."

"It's about time," Bahorel muttered. "We've all been waiting for it to happen, including you, Courf, so I don't know why you're looking like a kicked puppy. And more than that you've been wanting Combeferre to get laid for months now –"

"They didn't tell us!" Courfeyrac sank even lower into his seat, folding his arms over his chest. He kicked the coffee table. "I can't believe he didn't tell me. You know, I bet Enjolras knew!"

"Enjolras probably worked it out," Jehan said, wisely. "Éponine made a good point – it's not like they've been very subtle. All the signs were there."

"Now you mention it, he was giving her a lot of lifts home," Feuilly said, wrinkling his nose. "I just need to get those noises out of my head."

"I won't be able to look Éponine in the eye for a while," Bahorel agreed. "You know, I never thought she'd be a loud one –"

"I'd better never hear you say those words again, Bahorel," Éponine said, coming out of the bedroom whilst shrugging on her jacket. "Courfeyrac, grow up and stop kicking the coffee table."

Courfeyrac scowled at her and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like _liars_ and _traitors_ and _why didn't I know_.

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she waggled her fingers at them. "See you later," she said. "Don't think too hard, Courfeyrac, it doesn't suit you."

With that, she swept out of the apartment.

OOO

Combeferre found Enjolras at his apartment. He opened the door and promptly disappeared, letting Combeferre make his own way into the apartment itself.

Combeferre found Enjolras hunched over his laptop, typing furiously, a mug of steaming coffee at his elbow.

"Hello," Combeferre said, shrugging out of his jacket and letting it drop onto the sofa behind Enjolras' desk.

Enjolras sighed and glanced over his shoulder. "Yes, I'm still angry."

"I can tell." Combeferre crossed one of his legs over the other and looked at his oldest friend over the top of his glasses. "I'm angry on your behalf. We all chipped in to fund the printing of those pamphlets, and now we're going to have to do it again. I understand why you're angry."

"Is this the point where you begin making excuses for Grantaire?" Enjolras murmured, eyes now back on his laptop screen.

"No," Combeferre said. "I mean, I could say he was probably drunk when he did it, but it's Grantaire, and I'm not really sure whether he definitely was or not."

"I trusted him with _one_ job," Enjolras said. "I knew I should have asked Feuilly to design the pamphlets."

"Feuilly was busy," Combeferre said. "He's got that big design job on at the minute, you know that, and Grantaire offered. Seeing as he offered and, knowing Grantaire, was probably trying to impress, I think he probably changed the text after one too many."

"Doesn't make me feel any less angry."

"It wasn't supposed to," Combeferre said. "Although next time, maybe _don't_ yell so loudly in the café, the owners weren't impressed. Plus you left the pamphlets behind."

"They're useless anyway."

"I know," Combeferre said, "That's why I let the owners throw them in the bin. It was a tremendous waste of paper as well, another reason to be annoyed at Grantaire."

Enjolras pressed a hand over his eyes, then he dragged it down to cover his mouth. "How did you find out about the argument, anyway? You and Éponine had left before the shouting started."

"Ah, so _you_ noticed," Combeferre said, nodding.

"Of course." Enjolras rested his elbow on the desk and turned in his chair to look at Combeferre. "Did Courfeyrac come and find you?"

"All of them came to find me, but it was Feuilly who made me aware of the situation," Combeferre explained. "And they all know."

"All know? Know what?"

"About Éponine and I."

Enjolras snorted. "You know, I don't know how any of them didn't notice before," he said. "It was pretty obvious, even for someone like me to see. How did everyone take it?"

"Courfeyrac is acting like a child because we didn't tell him," Combeferre said slowly, "And the rest haven't really commented to my face. Not anything significant, anyway."

"And how did Éponine take it?" Enjolras took a gulp of his coffee.

"Surprisingly, she dealt with it quite well." Combeferre thought back to the casual and calm way she spoke to their friends. "She was a bit shocked at first – she actually squealed – but then she seemed to get her act together. She's hunting down Grantaire."

"Has he done one of his disappearing acts, then?" Enjolras guessed.

"Well, he'll be in a bar of some kind," Combeferre said. "She said she'd text later to let us know when she's found him and how he is."

"Nothing new, then," Enjolras muttered, now turning his gaze away from Combeferre to look back at his laptop screen. His mug of coffee was cradled between his hands. "We need to get the pamphlets printed again as soon as we possibly can."

Combeferre nodded. "When Grantaire's been given time to calm down, I will talk to him about it on your behalf," he said. "Plus I will get them printed this time, instead of him, so I can ensure that the text is what it should be."

Enjolras cleared his throat. "That sounds fair enough to me."

"So can we draw a line under this?" he suggested. "Please. Don't drag this out, or hold it against him, or you're going to make things really awkward for all of us the next time we're in the café."

Enjolras glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Consider the line drawn," he said, quietly.

OOO

Meanwhile, Éponine was sat in a shadowy bar, nursing a glass of Bacardi and coke whilst Grantaire downed a shot of vodka. "Sure I can't tempt you to join me?" he said, waving the empty shot glass in her face.

"I'm sure," she said. "I abused my liver enough last night, thanks."

He smacked his lips together and stared at the glass until he went cross-eyed. "You can never abuse your liver enough."

"Completely factually inaccurate," Éponine replied. "It's called liver failure. And I've got to say, you're probably heading down that path if you don't stop."

Grantaire gestured to the bartender for another shot. It was placed in front of him and he dipped his finger into the clear liquid and licked it off his finger. "Spare me the lecture, Éponine. If I'm going to have one today let it be on the fuck up that was those pamphlets rather than the fuck up that is my life."

"Why did you do it?" she asked, sipping her drink.

"Thought it was funny." Grantaire said. "I forgot I left it in. I was bored. I don't know. Shit happens."

"It was a dick move, Grantaire."

"Yeah, I know, but I _am_ a dick, so what does it matter?" He slung back the vodka and slammed the shot glass down onto the bar. "I suppose you want me to apologise."

"It'd be a step in the right direction, yeah," Éponine said.

"Fine, I'll apologise to Blondie the next time I see him." Grantaire sucked his finger into his mouth as if trying to find some trace of vodka.

"Well, that was easier than I expected it to be," Éponine muttered under her breath. "Now, are you going to come home with me?"

"Miss Thenardier," Grantaire said, waggling his eyebrows. He leaned towards her. His breath reeked of alcohol. "Are you propositioning me?"

She leaned towards him, ignoring the smell. "No," she said, quietly. "I'm planning on taking you home and making you watch shitty movies and making sure you don't choke on your own vomit."

He leaned back, slowly. "You're no fun."

"Neither are you, right now," she replied.

He slid off the stool, and wobbled, staggering into the bar. "I need a piss," he mumbled.

"Fine, come on." She climbed off her own stool and draped his arm around her neck, supporting him as they began to walk through the quiet, secluded bar towards the toilets at the back.

"You didn't finish your drink," he said, pushing her away from him. He stumbled into a table and chairs and nearly fell over.

"Yeah, I'm not really feeling it right now," she said, wondering just how much he'd managed to drink in the space of time between leaving the café and hopping between bars.

She held the door to the toilets open for him and he shoved his way into the men's without speaking. She wasn't sure he hadn't fallen over, but also wasn't willing to investigate. Instead, she leaned against the wall and folded her arms over her chest, a sigh escaping her mouth.

Her phone began to ring. She fished it out of her bag, answered the call and held the phone against her ear. "Hullo?"

She could hear the line crackling, and breathing, but no one spoke. Her stomach plummeted in the direction of her feet, joined by nausea.

"Hello?" she said again, hoping it was just one of those cold callers that take a while to actually speak to you.

There was still no response.

"Who is this?" she said. "This is fucking weird. I don't know who you are, but –"

Laughter met her words. Cold, humourless laughter that sent chills right down her spine. In an instant, she had ended the call and was staring at her phone as if it was some kind of alien creature.

She knew that laugh. She had heard it so many times in her life, the worst times of her life, moments she wished she could claim back for her own but never could. And even now, she heard it still, in her nightmares.

The question was, why was _he_ phoning her _now_?

Grantaire lurched out of the men's toilets, his fly undone and his T-shirt caught up around his hips.

Éponine dropped her phone into her bag and sighed, pushing the laughter to the back of her head even when it fought to be heard. She stepped towards her friend, reached out, zipped up his fly and pulled his T-shirt down to cover his stomach.

"Thanks," he muttered, blinking a lot.

"No problem," she said. "Wasn't as if I was going to wander around in public with you dressed like that."

"You're worse than my mother," he said.

Éponine had never met Grantaire's mother in person, but she'd present to more than one Skype conversation with her. She loved her son, doted on him, but could be harsh in her love.

"I doubt that," she snorted. She reached out and put her hand in Grantaire's, hoping he'd thought to wash his hands after using the toilet. "Come on, Grantaire. Let's get you home."

Grantaire didn't complain, but instead allowed Éponine to tow him out of the toilets and into what remained of the daylight.


	14. Brothers and Sisters

**_Chapter Fourteen_**

**Brothers and Sisters**

Éponine lay in her bed with her head on Combeferre's chest, drawing patterns on his stomach with her fingertips. She knew that he wasn't asleep, as one of his hands was stroking her hair.

"How do you feel now?" he murmured.

"Hmm?" She stopped drawing circles with her fingers and lay her palm flat over his stomach.

"About the fact that all of our friends know about…you know, us," Combeferre said, his chest vibrating beneath her as he spoke.

They hadn't discussed this since they had seen each other, after Éponine had left Grantaire and Combeferre had left Enjolras. There had been some discussion on their respective charges, and they had, as usual, fallen swiftly into bed (Éponine hadn't thought she could miss someone so much after not seeing them for only one night).

She considered his question and lifted her head up, placing her chin on his shoulder so she could look him in the eye.

"How do you feel?" she said.

He sighed. "That's not an answer."

"Neither was what you just said," Éponine countered. She tilted her chin downwards, digging it into his shoulder. "C'mon. You answer first."

He made a noise with his tongue. "That's not how it works," he muttered, before saying, "I don't mind. Courfeyrac will get over it, and the rest didn't seem to care."

"Well, then, I feel the same," she said, giving him a sleepy sort of smile. "I always thought you were uncomfortable with them knowing."

"See, I always thought that was you," he said. "I'm still surprised no one noticed."

"Grantaire worked it out." Éponine yawned and flexed her fingers on his stomach.

"So did Enjolras, actually." Combeferre pressed his mouth into Éponine's hair but he didn't kiss her. "So you're…fine with it? It's not changed anything?"

Éponine grinned at him. "I'm here, aren't I?"

OOO

The rest of the week dragged by, and then it was Saturday. The clock, which had been ticking so slowly for the previous days, had suddenly decided to speed up, and before Éponine knew it she was sat on the sofas in the Café Musain, waiting for five o'clock to roll around so she could head over to the pizza place and meet her brother.

She sat hunched forward in her seat, gnawing on her thumbnail. Around her, her friends chattered, voices loud and blurring into one another.

Combeferre put his hand on her knee. "'Ponine, it's going to be fine," he said quietly.

"What if he doesn't like me?" she said.

"Don't be silly," Cosette chipped in from her other side. She was flicking through a glossy magazine as she spoke, but then she rested it down on her lap and looked Éponine in the eye. "As I've said before, Gavroche did the brave thing and reached out to you. He's going to like you."

"Him reaching out means nothing," Éponine said, thinking back to her parents and how she had reached out to them.

"What I mean is, he's going to _try_ and like you," Cosette rephrased, turning the page in the magazine. "You're going to have to do something really horrid to upset him, I think."

"I agree with Cosette," Combeferre said. She looked at him. His eyes were soft and warm. "And you're going to try so hard to impress him you're not going to slip up and insult him."

"You just need to make sure you're not trying too hard," Cosette commented, running her hand over a photograph of a woman in a red and white bathing suit. "Otherwise, you'll come across as stiff and it'll make things awkward. Do you think that style would suit me?" she finished, thrusting the magazine in Éponine's direction.

She accepted the magazine and glanced at the picture. "I suppose," she said, handing it back.

Cosette hummed. "I don't think it'd suit my hips. But anyway, my point is, you need to be relaxed."

Éponine chewed harder on her thumbnail. "I don't feel very relaxed."

"It's probably the caffeine in the coffee you just drank," Cosette said.

"I feel like I need a drink," Éponine said in response, immediately searching the café for Grantaire.

"No, no you don't," Combeferre sighed, taking her hand in his and linking their fingers together. Cosette watched the motion with eyes like a hawk, and a slow grin spread across her face.

"It would make me feel better," Éponine bit out, digging her nails into the back of his hand. Combeferre frowned at her, and squeezed her hand in return.

"I think a double chocolate chip muffin would make you feel even better than a drink would," Cosette said. "My treat."

Before Éponine could say anything, Cosette had stood up and walked over to the counter.

Combeferre used his grip on her hand to pull her in close to him. She leaned with her head on his shoulder. "Relax," he murmured into her hair. "You're overanalysing. It's not going to be that bad."

Éponine felt dangerously close to whining. "It could be," she murmured.

"Is this how it's going to go now?" Courfeyrac said loudly. "Are you two going to get all touchy-feely all the time? Please don't be worse than Pontmercy and Cosette."

Combeferre lifted his head up long enough to glare at Courfeyrac. All of their friends had gone quiet and were staring at them in a curious manner.

Éponine untangled her fingers from Combeferre's and inched away from him. "Would that be an issue?" she said, dragging her hand through her hair.

"Not at all," Jehan answered, kicking Courfeyrac in the shin. "Courf's just sore that you never told him, that's all."

Courfeyrac flung his hands in the air. "I've only known Combeferre for most of his life, that's all," he said.

"Get over yourself, Courfeyrac," Éponine said, rolling her eyes. "I'm really not in the mood, and you're acting like a child. We don't owe you any information about our relationship."

"Ah, so you admit you have a relationship?" Courfeyrac was suddenly beaming. Jehan kicked him again.

"Huh?" Éponine accepted the huge chocolate muffin that Cosette was handing her.

"Ignore him," Combeferre said, sharply. "Give it a rest, Courfeyrac."

Courfeyrac rolled to one side and pressed his face into Enjolras' shoulder. "Enjolras, Combeferre's being mean," he whined.

Enjolras, who was reading a book and largely ignoring what was going on around him, simply turned a page. "Is he?" he said, in a mild voice.

"Yes," Courfeyrac said, just as Combeferre said, "I'm not, Courf's just being a big kid."

"When isn't he being a big kid?" Bossuet muttered, rolling his eyes.

Courfeyrac lifted his head to shoot the bald man a look that could curdle milk.

"They have a point, Courfeyrac," Enjolras murmured.

Éponine swallowed her bite of muffin and glanced at the watch on her wrist. "I'd better be going," she said, more to Combeferre than anyone else, as they were now all watching Courfeyrac curl up next to Enjolras, burrowing into the blond man's side.

"Do you want me to walk with you?" Combeferre asked.

"No, I'll be fine," Éponine said. "See you later."

Glancing around to make sure that Courfeyrac was still occupied (he'd just lifted Enjolras' arm so it was wrapped around him, so she figured he was distracted well enough), she pressed a kiss to Combeferre's mouth.

"Good luck," he murmured against her lips.

"Good luck," Cosette echoed, and then Éponine slipped out of the café, muffin in hand.

Combeferre waited until Éponine had gone out of sight before picking up the discarded muffin case she had left on the sofa and screwing it into a ball. He threw it at Courfeyrac, grinning in triumph when it bounced off his forehead.

Courfeyrac's entire body jerked at the impact and he nearly kicked over the coffee table between the sofas in response. "Why would you do that?" he cried indignantly.

"Stop it," Combeferre said, raising is eyebrows.

"But –"

"No buts," Combeferre said, making sure to keep his voice stern. "No more pestering about why we didn't tell you."

Courfeyrac pouted, but then a slow smile stretched across his mouth. "Okay," he said.

"You said 'okay' to that way too easily," Bahorel said, his tone suspicious.

Enjolras withdrew his arm from where it lay across Courfeyrac's shoulders. "I agree with Bahorel," he said.

"No, it's just, I had a thought," Courfeyrac drawled, promptly grabbing hold of Enjolras' arm again and forcing it back around his shoulder. He snuggled into Enjolras' side with a contented sigh escaping his mouth. The blond man rolled his eyes. "But I'll bide my time," he added, with what was supposed to be a sinister chuckle.

Combeferre raised his eyebrows in an unimpressed manner, and looked for something else nearby that he could throw at his friend.

OOO

Éponine brushed the crumbs from her hands and opened the door to the pizza restaurant. There was a waiting area at the front where she had agreed to meet Juliette and Gavroche; there was a huge notice board covered in advertisements for various offers and deals the restaurant was running, as well as photographs of notable staff members and pizzas. There was a podium as well, behind which a rather bored woman stood chewing gum and examining her nails.

Éponine's eyes then fell on a woman and boy stood to one side. The woman stood with her arms folded, looking somewhat impatient, whilst the boy lolled against the wall with his head tilted towards the ceiling. The woman was slightly overweight, with a face that had probably been beautiful, but her beauty had been dulled by age and frown lines. Her hair was a dark reddish brown, curling to just below her jaw. Her clothes were practical – a simple jersey top and dark trousers, but her nails were clearly manicured and the earrings she wore looked expensive.

The boy was in the awkward stage between boy and man, tall, but his frame long, thin and awkward. He had a thin face, from what she could see, and when he looked towards the door as she came in she saw he had a clever glint to his eyes. He wore skinny jeans, and a red plaid shirt over a band T-shirt. His hair was dark blonde, spiked up with just a little gel, and there were many wristbands and plaited leather bracelets around his skinny wrists.

He was also the boy that stole her purse, she realised. He looked a bit more groomed in his own clothes and not his school uniform, but it was definitely him. If she hadn't been sure, the slightly panicked expression he wore on his face upon sight of her told her everything she needed to know.

"Excuse me?" Éponine said, as the woman with him hadn't looked around. "I'm Éponine."

The woman smiled brightly. "Éponine, hi," she said. "We thought you weren't coming for a bit there."

"Sorry, I got caught up with something," she apologised.

"Never mind," the woman said, unfolding her arms. "I'm Juliette, as I'm sure you guessed."

"I had," Éponine said. She glanced at the boy – no, not the boy, her _brother_. Gavroche.

There were so many things on Gavroche's face when she focused on him and she could see that the main thing was _please don't say anything_.

"Hello," she said to him.

"Hello," he said, voice a little gruff and uncertain. He pushed off the wall.

Juliette clapped her hands together. "Well, I'm going to leave you two to it," she said. "I'll be back here in a couple of hours, if that's okay?"

"That's fine," Éponine nodded.

"Have fun," Juliette said, giving Éponine a smile and forcing a kiss onto the protesting Gavroche's forehead. She left them, leaving the scent of flowery perfume behind.

"Shall we get a table?" Éponine suggested, gesturing towards the podium. The woman behind it pushed her gum to one side of her cheek with her tongue, and reached into the podium, retrieving two menus.

"Table for two, is it?" she said, in a voice completely devoid of enthusiasm.

"Yes, please," Éponine confirmed, and the woman led the two of them through the maze of tables and chairs to a table in the far corner. As there had been the time she came here with Cosette, there were some crayons in a pot, and a pair of colouring books sat next to it. She considered grabbing one as they sat down, but then decided she'd probably best concentrate on talking to her long lost brother.

"Here are your menus, someone will be over in a few minutes to take your orders for drinks," the woman drawled, placing their menus on the table and then sloping off.

They had ordered their drinks (an orange juice for Éponine, a coke for Gavroche) and were reading through the menus when she decided to speak.

"So," she said, "Pick pocketing. A habit of yours?"

Gavroche made an irritated noise at the back of his throat. "Please don't tell my mum," he said, leaning across the table towards her.

"Calm down," she said, rolling her eyes. "I have no intention of telling your mother. I just want to know why you do it."

"Why does anyone do anything?" Gavroche muttered, closing the menu and flopping back in his seat.

"I just…I don't like it," Éponine said. "Knowing that my little brother picks pockets for fun. It makes me feel uncomfortable."

"I didn't want to meet up with you for the lecture," Gavroche shot back. "I wanted to meet up with you for answers."

"I'm kind of giving you one," Éponine said. "Pick pocketing isn't particularly big or clever, and it kind of makes you more of a Thenardier than a Moreau."

"How do you know I don't want to be more like a Thenardier?" Gavroche challenged.

"No one in their right mind wants to be like a Thenardier," she said, still not looking him in the face. "Trust me. Once you call yourself Thenardier, things go downhill. We're a family of crooks and thieves and child abusers. Be pleased you don't carry the name."

This really wasn't how she'd intended her first meeting with Gavroche to be. He was more sullen than she'd expected (probably her fault), and she'd been expecting a Courfeyrac-type person rather than an Azelma.

It was a shame, she supposed, that Azelma had gone AWOL since leaving care; she'd probably have got on with Gavroche.

She finally looked up at him. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean for that to come out like that. You – your mother said you don't really know about our family."

"They won't tell me," he muttered. "So that's what they are, then? Child abusers?"

"Our father," she corrected. "Not the whole bunch, I'm probably doing the Thenardiers a disservice, but the ones I know of tend to be petty criminals. They're nothing to look up to."

He went very quiet. The waitress brought over their drinks, took their order for pizza, and then relieved them of their menus.

She watched Gavroche as he picked at the edge of the table, scraping at the wood with his nail.

"What about you?" he said, finally.

"Me?" Éponine took a sip of her orange juice. "I'm…" She groped in her mind for the right word. "I'm reformed," she decided.

"You run a shop," Gavroche said. "That's how we found you."

"I wouldn't call it a shop," Éponine disputed. "I make jewellery out of clay and try and sell it. I work in a supermarket. Much less glamorous."

"So you don't – you don't see any of our family?" Gavroche continued.

"No." Éponine said that as firmly and clearly as she could. "And I won't put you in touch with any of them, either. As I said, they're not good people. They're not healthy to be around."

"And you are?"

"I never said that," Éponine said. "But I'm a hell of a lot better, and I have your best interests at heart. Give them a wide berth, Gavroche. If any of them ever come knocking, turn them away. And stop pick pocketing."

Gavroche wrinkled his nose. "It's just a bit of fun. Extra money."

"I don't think you need the extra money," she said, resting her elbows on the table and leaning forwards. "Your clothes don't look cheap, they look pretty expensive, and I'd bet my last penny you're not working and your parents support you."

He scowled. "My friends…"

"Are no sort of friends if they encourage you to steal people's purses," Éponine said, exasperated.

"It's just fun," Gavroche muttered, placing his hands on the table and flexing his fingers.

"It wasn't very fun when you thought I was going to call the police," she reminded gently. "Or when you thought I was going to tell your mother. I mean it, Gavroche, pack it in. I can tell you'd done it before, you nearly fooled me."

"If I promise I'll stop, will you drop it?" he asked.

"I won't mention it again," she promised. "Unless, of course, you pickpocket me again."

"Which I obviously wouldn't do," he said. "You're my sister."

She ran her finger around the rim of her glass, thinking simultaneously how nice it was for him to refer to her as his sister and how wrong he was to think that blood ties meant a thing in life.

"So," she said, changing the subject as she had promised, "How is school?"

She could tell by the expression on his face that she'd asked possibly the most boring question she could have thought of.

"School is school," he said.

"Yeah, I know that feeling," she said. "I hated it but now I wish I'd put more effort in."

"Did you go to university?" he said.

"Nope," she said. "I didn't go into further education at all, I just left school and…" She trailed off, wondering whether to be honest or embellish the truth a little. She chose the latter option. "Got a job," she finished, a bit lamely.

"My father wants me to study medicine," Gavroche said.

"A lot of my friends are medicine students," Éponine nodded. "What do you want to do, though?"

"I haven't really thought about it," Gavroche said. "Something…different. Like, I don't think I want to go into medicine."

Éponine thought he was awfully young to be making those sort of decisions, but she decided not to say that. Instead, she asked, "What things are you interested in?"

"I like music," he said.

"What type of music?" she pressed.

"Rock music, like, punk and stuff," he said.

"Do you like music enough to, I don't know, learn how to play an instrument?" she suggested.

"I already play guitar," he said. "But I can't find anyone to start a band with me."

"So you want to be in a band?" Éponine smiled at the thought.

"It had crossed my mind, yeah," he replied. He didn't seem to be able to stop the smile that went across his own face. "But like I said, none of my friends are  
really interested. My friend Arnaud plays the piano but he's into completely different music to me."

"I'm sure you'll find someone in time," Éponine said, reassuringly. "If you still want to be in a band in a few years, you know? You might completely change your mind when you get older and want to, I don't know, become an activist."

"An activist for what?" he questioned.

"It's not really relevant to my point," she responded. "But, eh, the government, or something? I don't know. Activist for whatever you want to be an activist for. The point I was trying to make was anything can change in a few years. If you'd spoken to me a few years ago I never thought I'd be working in a supermarket and a bunch of rich students for friends, but here I am."

"Why, what did you think you'd be doing?" Gavroche asked curiously.

"I don't know," she replied, chewing on the inside of her mouth. "It's hard to say, really. Just, not this. Not that _this _is anything bad, it's just not what I expected."

"I never thought I'd ever meet you," Gavroche said suddenly. "Like, I always wanted to meet my family. I love my parents but they're not – they're not blood relations and I don't always see myself in them. Does that make sense?"

She nodded. "But I think you'd see even less of yourself in your biological parents," she said.

"I see myself in you," he said. "I know I've only known you five minutes, but…"

They were interrupted by the arrival of their pizza. They both sat back so that the waitress could place the pizzas down.

"Enjoy your meal," the woman said with a smile, before leaving.

"You remind me of Azelma," Éponine said. "Our sister."

He looked up from his pizza. "Really?" he said.

"Really. Well, you remind me of her from when I last saw her."

"When was that?" He cocked his head to one side.

"Years ago," Éponine said, rubbing her neck with one hand as she picked up a slice of pizza with the other. "When I saw her properly, I mean. I've seen her about since but never for very long and we don't talk to each other."

He looked a little crestfallen. "So I wouldn't be able to meet her?"

"Not right now," she said, biting into the slice. She chewed and swallowed. "We don't get on. We don't see eye to eye, that's all it is, and she's kind of involved with our parents at the moment and I can't support that. But if she and I ever reconcile, I promise I will introduce you to her."

Gavroche nodded.

"So," Éponine said, picking a piece of pepperoni off her slice of pizza. "You want to be in a band. But have you ever thought of being solo, or something…?"


	15. Those Hands

**WARNING: Domestic abuse**

**_Chapter Fifteen_**

**Those Hands**

After Gavroche had been picked up by Juliette, Éponine walked straight to Combeferre's flat. He had sent her a text message to say that's where he would be. He answered the door with a towel wrapped around his hips, skin slightly wet, towelling his fair hair with a smaller towel.

"Hello," she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him on the mouth.

"You look happy," he said in response after kissing her back. He stood aside so she could step into the flat.

Courfeyrac was sat on the sofa, but hung upside down with his legs cycling in the air. Jehan was doing the same thing next to him, with Cosette mirroring them on Jehan's other side, whilst Marius sat on the other sofa looking three seconds away from falling asleep.

Éponine stared at the scene. Combeferre touched her shoulder and shrugged. "I have no idea," he said. "I came out of the shower and that's what I found."

"We're seeing who can stay upside down the longest," Jehan sang, stopping his cycling to hold his legs straight upwards.

"Sounds…fun," Éponine said, pulling a face at Combeferre. He grinned.

"I'll just put some clothes on," he said. She half considered sayings she would join him, but then Cosette had swung down from her upside down position and sat properly, righting her dress over her knees.

"How was it?" she asked.

Éponine looked around for somewhere to sit, and realised the only available place was next to the sleepy Marius. Internally swearing, she lowered herself into the seat next to him. She considered her answer.

"I think it went okay," Éponine said.

"What's he like, your brother?" Jehan asked.

"Eh, he was a bit grumpy at first," Éponine said, deciding quickly to omit the part where he was her pickpocket from a couple of weeks ago. "But he warmed up."

"Did he ask about your parents?" Cosette said, plaiting some strands of her hair.

"Yeah, but I shut him down about that as soon as I could." Éponine reached down and tugged her shoes off her feet. "All in all, I think it went okay, I mean, he said he wanted to see me again so it can't have gone terribly, can it?"

"When do we get to meet Éponine Junior?" Courfeyrac's voice was breathless as he spoke, and his face was bright red. Jehan, on the other hand, looked like remaining upside down was effortless.

"Not yet," Éponine said. "I mean, I've only just got to know him myself."

"Courfeyrac would probably scare him off," Combeferre drawled, coming out of his room now wearing a T-shirt and jogging pants. His hair was still damp, but it had been combed so it lay flat against his head. He ambled over to her and she couldn't help herself; she grabbed his wrist as he passed and pulled him down to her level, running her hands through his hair and mussing it up.

"It looks better messy," she said, giving him a look that challenged him to go and comb it again. Turning her attention back to Courfeyrac, she said, "I'll have to have seen him a few more times before I think about suggesting you all meet him."

"Sure," Courfeyrac said. Even upside down, she could see that his grin had just turned sly. "But he has to meet Combeferre first, right? You know, make sure he's good enough for you."

Éponine raised an eyebrow, and glanced at Combeferre. He had set about neatening his hair with her fingers, and he stopped as Courfeyrac spoke. He heaved a heavy sigh.

"Courfeyrac," he said. "Remember what we talked about?"

"Yeah, I think I remember you saying something about wanting –" Courfeyrac begin, his grin obnoxious, but Cosette reached over and pulled on his legs, forcing him to go quiet (save for a rather high-pitched shriek) and try and right himself before he fell headfirst onto the floor.

"I win!" Jehan crowed, remaining upside down.

Éponine watched this, amused, and then looked at Combeferre. Combeferre was watching her, too, but his expression was much more uncertain.

"Tell me later," she mouthed, tucking her legs beneath herself in order to get comfortable. Beside her, Marius let out a loud snore, and on the other sofa, Courfeyrac jumped on Jehan and dragged him into a headlock. Cosette squealed and scrambled out of the way of the ensuing play fight.

"Children," Combeferre said, rolling his eyes.

"Aren't they just," Éponine agreed, grinning.

OOO

_"It's just one more time, babe. Come on, it won't be so bad this time…"_

_Hands, stroking over her shoulders, those lips, pressing into hear ear, whispering, whispering._

_"Please, baby…For me? Just one more time…"_

_"You said last time would be the last time."_

_"I know, baby, and I'm so sorry it's not. Do you think I enjoy this?"_

_"No – no, that's not what I meant."_

_"Good…" A kiss pressed to the side of her neck, tongue flicking out. "Please, babe."_

_"All right."_

_"Good girl."_

OOO

_"You said I'd never have to do it again."_

_"This is different, baby. It's not the same thing."_

_"No, it's worse! I can't believe you'd ask me –"_

_A slap across the cheek. Blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth from where her teeth sliced through her lip. Tears burn her eyes in humiliation. She feels like a child again, too little to defend herself._

_"I'm not asking, I'm telling. I need the money, babe. We need the money. You don't have a choice. Now, just do as you're told."_

_"But –"_

_A hand snaked out, wound into her hair, yanking her head back. "Don't you talk back to me, you stupid bitch. You're doing it, and that's final."_

OOO

Éponine woke up, feeling the phantom of a slap on her cheek and tasting the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. She sat up, covering her face with her hands. They came away damp, and she realised she was crying.

She let out a soft, shaking noise, somewhere between a sob and a sigh.

"Éponine?" Combeferre murmured sleepily from the other side of the bed.

She couldn't bring herself to reply, and instead covered her face once more. She was crying now, her shoulders shaking, and quiet, squeaking noises were escaping her mouth. She couldn't force the images out of her head, the cold voice, the feeling of _hands_, slimy and disgusting, in places she didn't want them to be.

All of a sudden, the room flooded with light as Combeferre turned on the lamp by his bed. "Éponine?" he said again, this time a lot louder, his voice clearer. "Jesus, Éponine, what's wrong?"

She dropped her hands to her lap and stared at him. His hair was ruffled, and he wasn't wearing his glasses; his eyes looked sleepy and alert at the same time. He looked adorable and safe, bed sheets pooled around his waist, and there was so much concern on his face. Her heart reached out to him, or at least it wanted to, but her body wanted none of his sympathy right now.

"Don't," she said, swiping at her face.

"Don't what?" His brow furrowed in confusion. "Éponine, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, just go back to sleep," Eponine replied, swinging her legs out of bed. Her throat ached and she desperately wanted him to roll over and forget about her, but he was Combeferre and Combeferre would never do that in the face of someone's distress.

"You're crying," Combeferre said.

"Captain _fucking_ Obvious strikes again," Éponine spat, flinging the bed sheets away from her and standing up.

"Where are you going?" Combeferre mimicked her actions, climbing out of bed as well. She stooped and grabbed her underwear from the floor, sliding it up her legs. She grabbed her T-shirt, yanking it over her head, and stared around the room for her jeans.

"Home," she said, shortly.

"Éponine, it's four o'clock in the morning," he said, exasperated. "You won't be able to get a taxi and you're not –"

"Don't tell me what to do," she snapped, grabbing her jeans and pulling them on. She nearly stumbled and fell over, and before she knew it, Combeferre was behind her, his hands grabbing her elbows.

"Éponine, I can see that you're upset," he said, his voice low and calm and soothing, "But please just _stop_ and think about what you're doing. It's the early hours of Sunday morning, it's still dark out, you're probably half-asleep – you don't _need_ to go home. You can stay here. You don't have to sleep if you don't want – I can sleep on the sofa and you can stay in here, I can make you a cup of tea, whatever you want, but _please_ don't go."

She threw his hands away from her. "Get off me," she said.

"Calm down," he said. His words were sharper, less soothing now and more commanding. "Éponine –"

"Combeferre, I don't want to be around _people_ right now," she snarled. "Just let me go."

Before he could say anything else, she started towards his bedroom door. He cursed under his breath and reached out for his jogging pants. When he followed her into the main body of the flat, he was pulling them on as he walked.

"Don't follow me," she said.

"You're being – Éponine, just _stop_!"

Courfeyrac's bedroom door opened and the dark-haired man poked his head out, eyes narrowed. "What's going on?" he demanded, looking to be somewhere between highly irritated and near to falling asleep.

"Just go back to sleep," Combeferre ordered, as Éponine flung the front door open and slammed it behind her.

"What the hell? What did you _do_ to her?" Courfeyrac demanded, coming out of his room.

Combeferre raked his hands through his hair. "Fuck, I don't know," he said. "We were sleeping and I woke up because I could hear her crying and then she just went off on one, I don't know what's wrong, she won't tell me, she just kept on telling me to go away and now she's going home."

"Well, I'd hate to burst her bubble but she wasn't even wearing shoes," Courfeyrac pointed out. "I think you should probably go after her and get her back in here."

"I know," Combeferre said. Courfeyrac disappeared back into his room and a second later, a bundled up red T-shirt soared through the door and landed near Combeferre's feet.

"Put that on and go," he said.

Combeferre grabbed it and pulled it over his head. It was a bit too small for him, but it'd do for the time being. He stepped into his trainers which sat by the door, banished to the main room because they smelled sometimes when he'd been for his morning jog.

"I'll be back in a bit, leave the door unlocked," he said over his shoulder, throwing the front door open.

"Sure, sure," Courfeyrac said through a yawn. "I'll be snoozing on the sofa. See you later, Prince Charming."

OOO

Éponine hurtled down the stairs as fast as she could, just wanting to get out of the building. She felt like something was crawling under her skin and she couldn't shake off the feeling of _hands_ everywhere. She was three seconds away from crying and she knew at the back of her mind she was behaving stupidly, but she just didn't _care_.

She threw open the front doors to the building and was grateful to feel the cool air from outside hit her body.

She just wanted to be _alone_, alone to think about things. She didn't want the company of anyone and could those hands just _stop_ stroking her back?

She was storming off down the road when she felt something vibrating against her backside. It was her phone in her pocket, the shrill ringing breaking through her reverie.

Éponine slowly came to a halt and reached for her phone, slipping it out of her pocket and answering.

"If this is you, Combeferre, you can fuck off," she spat.

"Lover's tiff?" a cool, smooth voice said.

"What do you want?" Éponine said, her voice coming out quiet and breathier than she'd wanted it to when she heard _him_ speak.

"Well, I'm certainly hoping it's _not_ a lover's tiff," the voice continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "I wouldn't be happy if you've taken a lover, Éponine."

"What do you want?" Éponine repeated. The three seconds flew by and she realised she was crying again, and her hand shook where it was gripping her phone.

"Now that would be telling," the voice said. "Have you been enjoying our little phone calls?"

"I want you to leave me alone," Éponine said, shrilly. "Delete my number, and just _fuck off_, you're not in my life anymore –"

"So rude," the voice said silkily. "Where are your _manners_, Éponine?"

"I just want you to leave me alone," she whispered. "I want to move on."

"How sweet." There was a pause, and then the voice said, "I'm going to leave you now, Éponine, because I have other things to do, but just be warned, _baby_, that I am not finished with you."

"Leave me _alone_!" she shouted, and threw her phone. It hit the road with a hard clatter, skittering across the tarmac and exploding, plastic and metal shooting in every direction.

Her chest heaved up and down and before she knew it, she was crouching, her back against the wall of the building behind her. Her forehead pressed to her knees; she wrapped her arms around her head and cried.

OOO

Combeferre came out of his building to the sight of Éponine throwing her phone. He ran towards her as she crouched.

It was raining, but he paid the soft mist no heed as he splashed through puddles in order to reach her. He doubted she'd even noticed the rain as she'd stormed down the street.

"Éponine," he said, softly, as he drew level with her. He knelt before her, and sighed. He reached out and folded his arms around her, resting his cheek on top of her head. He was glad when she didn't shove him away. The only thing he could really hear was the sound of her deep, choking sobs.

Combeferre wondered what to do. He didn't think she was having a panic attack, but she was clearly incredibly distressed and bordering on hysterical. He was lucky she was letting him touch her; he wouldn't have been surprised if she hadn't violently lashed out when he put his arms around her.

He raised his head and stared at the pieces of her phone lying in the road. It was just starting to become light, pale oranges and blues seeping into the grey sky. In his arms, Éponine was shuddering, and he couldn't tell whether it was with the force of her crying or from the cold and rain.

"Éponine," he said, a little louder. He withdrew one of his arms from her and used that hand to tuck under her chin and lift her head. Her eyes were red and swollen, her mouth hanging open unattractively, and God knows what streamed from her nose. Rain trickled over her cheeks, mingling with her tears. He'd never seen anyone in a more pitiful state than Éponine in that moment. "Please, come inside with me," he whispered. "I promise, we don't have to talk about it, just come inside. Come on, sweetie, it's raining…"

She blinked at him, as if she had only just realised he was there.

"When did it start raining?" she mumbled, in a thick voice.

"You're soaked," he replied. "I think it's been raining the whole time."

She allowed him to pull her to her feet, and he tucked her in close to his body, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I'm so sorry, Combeferre."

"It's fine," he said, leading her back to his building. She began to shiver more when she got inside, both of them dripping rainwater all over the stairs and landing.

Courfeyrac was snoring on the sofa, one leg thrown over the back of it; he didn't even wake up when they came in, but his other leg began twitching.

Combeferre let go of Éponine to lock the door behind them and then took hold of her hand. It was freezing and small wrapped in his fingers.

"Come on," he said, towing her into his bedroom.

He helped her undress, stripping off her sodden clothes. He removed his own clothes and left them in a damp heap on the floor before retrieving one of his oldest, comfiest T-shirts from his wardrobe. He pulled it over Éponine's head before she could protest, fitting her arms into the holes as well.

"Get into bed," he ordered in a gentle voice. "But stay sitting up. I'll dry your hair."

He grabbed his towel and knelt on the bed behind her, gently towelling her hair. She let him without speaking, and when he was done, he handed her the towel to wipe her face. He threw it to one side when she was done.

The room was silent and still. She was still shaking, but not so bad; what concerned him more was the way she was staring into space.

"I really am sorry," she murmured, drawing her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs. "I had a nightmare."

"It's fine," he said, suddenly feeling very tired. He just wanted to curl up next to her and go to sleep, but at the same time he felt too wired to do so. Plus he wanted to make sure she was comfortable with the situation before he did anything else. "So – do you want me to go and crash on one of the sofas? Because I can do…"

She lifted her eyes to look at him, and shook her head. "No," she said. "No, I don't…Combeferre, I'm sorry."

He studied her, unsure of what to say.

She turned on the bed, stretching out one hand to cup his face. "You're too nice to me," she said. "I don't think I deserve it. I treat you like crap."

He leaned down and kissed the self-resentment out of her mouth, not wanting to hear her say she didn't deserve his kindness again. She kissed him back hard, her nails biting into the skin of his cheek for the briefest of seconds. He pulled away, staring down into her eyes, her eyes the colour of dark rum.

"Let's just go to sleep," he suggested. "We can talk in the morning."

She sighed, and stretched out on the bed. He pulled the bed sheets over them, switched off the lamp, and then curled his body around hers. He didn't sleep until he felt her body relax against his as it succumbed to sleep.


	16. The Past Closes In

**_Chapter Sixteen_**

**The Past Closes In**

Just a few hours later, Combeferre woke before Éponine. He left her sleeping peacefully in his bed as he went to the bathroom. It was a Sunday morning, not long after eight o'clock, and he found himself showering and dressing in the comfiest clothes he could dig out of his wardrobe.

Bathed and dressed, he went through to the kitchen and took the kettle over to the sink, filling it with water from the tap. He was just putting the kettle back onto its base to boil when he heard a door open and shut.

He glanced over his shoulder, assuming he had managed to rouse Éponine in his search for clothes. But it was Courfeyrac, who had at some point returned to his bedroom once Combeferre had settled Éponine in bed. The other man was ruffling his dark curls with one hand, his other arm stretching high above his head.

"My neck is all stiff," he complained. "Why did you let me fall asleep on the sofa?"

"I was a bit preoccupied," Combeferre muttered, pulling two mugs out of the cupboard and reaching for the ceramic pot of teabags next to the kettle. Removing the pot's lid, he plucked out two teabags and held them up in Courfeyrac's general direction. "Do you want one?"

"Sure." Courfeyrac yawned, and ambled over to the kitchen. He leaned his elbows onto the island that separated the kitchen from the living area, staring at Combeferre with speculative eyes. "Is she still sleeping?"

Combeferre dropped the teabags into the two mugs and glanced towards his closed bedroom door. "I think so."

"How was she, last night, when you got her back?" Courfeyrac lowered his voice considerably; it was too deep to be considered a whisper, but quiet enough that Éponine probably couldn't hear them.

Combeferre reached now for the pot of sugar, dragging open the cutlery draw to get out a teaspoon. "She was crying when I found her," he said after a while, a part of him feeling like he should be keeping his mouth shut. "And she'd thrown her phone into the road. It was smashed to pieces. I don't know what happened there, but…" He dumped two sugars in Courfeyrac's mug, and one in his own.

Courfeyrac whistled. "Whatever it was you did, it must have been bad."

Combeferre glared at him. The kettle clicked as it reached boiling point. "I didn't _do_ anything," he insisted. "I told you last night – I just woke up and she was crying. Then, when we got back, she kept on saying sorry and…" He poured the scalding water onto the teabags, watching the water turn the deep reddish amber.

"Well, we all knew that Éponine's a bit…" Courfeyrac drummed his fingers on the countertop. Combeferre shot him a look as he opened the fridge to get out the milk. "Hey, 'Ferre, I'm trying to be sensitive," Courfeyrac said, defensively. "She's a bit troubled, is what I mean to say."

"That's definitely one word for it," Combeferre sighed, scooping out the teabag of his cup and pressing it against the side. He repeated the action with Courfeyrac's tea, before taking the teabags out and pouring in some milk. "I don't know what it was about, though."

"She wouldn't say?"

"Once I got her back in here, I didn't ask." Combeferre handed Courfeyrac his tea. "You do take two sugars, right?"

"When I'm being good," Courfeyrac said, blowing on top of the tea. "But sometimes I put in three."

"Wow, what a rebel," Combeferre drawled. "Anyway – I didn't ask once she'd stopped crying because…well, you know…"

"If you don't _ask_, how do you expect answers?" Courfeyrac tentatively sipped his tea, and then grimaced. "Too hot."

"Of  
course it's too hot, you idiot," Combeferre said, a note of affection in his voice. Then he said, "I didn't want to pressure her. Clearly it's something that distresses her so it's not something I want to force her into saying out loud."

"It certainly wouldn't be sensitive, I'll give you that," Courfeyrac agreed, placing the mug down on the countertop. He cupped his chin in his hand. "And you _can't_ force her into it if you want to make this…" He paused, then made air quotes with his fingers to punctuate what he said, "…_arrangement_ a real, genuine relationship because you'll just piss her off."

Combeferre leaned his body against the countertop behind him and folded his arms over his chest. "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything to jeopardise this…thing."

Courfeyrac waggled his eyebrows. "Hard to put a name on it, isn't it?" he said. "What you two have got going on?"

Combeferre wrinkled his nose. "It's our arrangement," he said, shrugging. "It's the only name we've put on it."

"Call it that all you like, 'Ferre, but it looks a hell of a lot like a relationship," Courfeyrac continued, lowering his voice even more, if it were possible. "Ever since we all found out about you two, you've become really hands-on in public –"

"There's no law against that," Combeferre interrupted, exasperation colouring his tone. "We're comfortable with each other –"

"You look like Cosette and Marius or Joly and Musichetta when you do it," Courfeyrac cut him off bluntly. "Also, she's been staying here nearly every single night, you two cuddle up on the sofa like you're married…"

Combeferre groaned and shook his head. "I don't want to talk about this."

There was the sound of movement beyond Combeferre's bedroom door. Courfeyrac's head tilted towards the noise and a cat-like grin stretched across his face. "As I said to you yesterday, Combeferre," he said, "You poor bastard."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Combeferre hissed, pushing away from the counter.

"It means," Courfeyrac began to explain, "_You_ want to be like Cosette and Marius or Joly and Musichetta. You _want_ to be in a proper, bona fide relationship with Éponine, but you're too scared she's going to run if you say that, right?"

"Actually," Combeferre said, "_No_, that's not what it is at all."

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes in an disbelieving way. "Sure."

"Shut up, Courfeyrac." Combeferre pressed the heel of his hand into his eye. "Seriously. Believe me when I say what you just said is _not_ the case."

"Yeah, and I'm a pink donkey called Aloysius," Courfeyrac scoffed, as Éponine came through the door.

"A pink donkey called Aloysius?" she echoed, ruffling her hair. Her eyes were puffy, and she looked tired and a little embarrassed, folding her arms around herself as she padded across the room towards them.

"I don't know," Courfeyrac said. "I said the first thing that came into my head."

"Which, naturally, was a pink donkey called Aloysius," Combeferre said, flicking the kettle back on and reaching for another mug. "That old saying we're so familiar with."

"My point stands," Courfeyrac shrugged. "You knew what I meant." He picked up his mug of tea and waggled his fingers at Éponine and Combeferre. "I'll see the two of you later. I'm going to rest my eyes."

He disappeared into his room, leaving them alone.

OOO

"How are you feeling?" Combeferre asked. Éponine watched as he began to prepare her a cup of tea, keeping his back to her.

"Tired," she said, honestly, walking around the island to stand beside him. She placed her hand on his waist, tucking her arm around his body. "Sorry," she said.

"Stop apologising for it," Combeferre said, spooning sugar into her mug, heaping it over the top of the teabag.

"I feel like an idiot," she admitted, pressing her forehead against his arm. She spoke quietly. She meant the words that she had said; she felt like she was past embarrassed and well on her way to complete and utter humiliation. She could remember every second of the incident from the night before, replaying again and again in her head. She had broken down like that before on a handful of occasions, but she was usually alone. The two times she hadn't she had been with Grantaire, who dealt with it in his own little way. Both times he had kept his distance, but had watched out for her at the same time, ensuring that she didn't do anything stupid.

Combeferre's approach had been completely different, unfamiliar, _alien_, and she hadn't really known what to do. He had been reasonably calm and quiet, with his steady voice and sensible words. He had managed to get through to her, even when she was in a mood where she really didn't want to be got through _to_.

She couldn't remember the last time someone had looked after her like that, but that, she supposed, was Combeferre all over. She let him do it, as well, because it felt nice; it was comforting to not have to worry about herself for once, and she trusted Combeferre to make sure she was safe.

But this enjoyment came at a price, that price being the fact she felt embarrassed about it the next day, when her vulnerability had faded away and her walls had rebuilt themselves; it was like there was a small voice whispering in the back of her brain, telling her it was dangerous to let someone in so much.

"You really shouldn't," Combeferre replied, as the kettle clicked off again. He picked it up and poured the water into the mug. "Seriously, Éponine, I'm not annoyed about it or anything, so don't even think about apologising again."

She let go of him to pull the mug he had prepared towards her. She removed her own teabag, flicking it into the bin, and then dropping the spoon into the sink with a clank.

"Is that not bitter, without the milk?" Combeferre asked, wrinkling his nose as he stared at her tea.

"No, and don't change the subject," she said, sternly. "I was completely…you know…"

"Éponine." He shook his head. "_Please_. Stop. I'm not angry, or annoyed, and _I_ don't feel embarrassed. The only thing I feel about the situation is _worried_. I…I care about you, Éponine, and I didn't like seeing you so upset."

She stared down at the cup of tea he had prepared for her, and thought about what he was saying. Softly, she said, "I…I don't think I can talk about it. Not yet."

When Éponine had woken this morning, she had heard snippets of the conversation that Combeferre had with Courfeyrac. She'd heard the discussion about _what_ had upset her, and she knew he wanted to know.

"Of course," Combeferre said, gently brushing his hand over her shoulder. "I don't need to know, I know."

It was her turn to shake her head. "That's not why," she said. "It's because…" She swallowed, for a few seconds feeling phantom hands over her neck and hair and hips again, and briefly closed her eyes. "I don't like to even think about it, Combeferre, let alone say it out loud."

Combeferre's mouth twisted, and something dark passed across his face. Then he nodded, and leaned down to press his mouth to her forehead. "Then I _don't_ need to know," he said into her skin. "It's your business, not mine."

In that moment, with his lips on her head, she felt like spitting it out, telling him everything, and then maybe, just maybe, he would understand her a little bit better.

But then he was pulling away, and that moment was lost.

OOO

The following week, Éponine met up with Gavroche once more. They went to see a film, this time, the latest action flick that he had chosen. It was pure explode-o-porn, as far as Éponine was concerned, and it really wasn't her sort of thing, but it kept him happy.

Afterwards, they went for Chinese, something else that Gavroche had chosen. At first, her brother was content to go over the details of the film, asking her opinion on everything. But when that was done, conversation turned back to their family.

She sipped her coke as he asked, "So what do our parents do?"

Her coke nearly went the wrong way as the weight of his question went through her head. Clearing her throat, she said, "Currently, our father owns a night club. They used to own a hotel and things, but it went bust when we were kids."

"A nightclub?" Gavroche raised his eyebrows and wound noodles around his fork. He'd tried, and failed, to use the chopsticks provided.

"Yeah, but it's not as glamorous as it sounds, trust me," Éponine said. "It's pretty crap actually. Avoid it at all costs when you're old enough to drink."

"Because the club is crap or because our father owns it?" Gavroche asked.

"Both." Éponine thought of flashing lights and dark corners. "It's not safe, you know?"

"What do you mean, not safe?" Gavroche paused in lifting his forkful of noodles and vegetables to his mouth.

"What I said," Éponine said. "There's no hidden meaning, it's just not safe. Look, our dad is a dick, a complete dick. He's a criminal, he breaks the law for a living, and any kind of seedy shit you can think of goes on in that club. It's nearly been closed down a fuck load of times because people have been stabbed there, someone was shot last year sometime, there are drugs all over the place, fights happen every night, the police are always raiding it. Trust me; you don't want to get caught up in any of that."

"My mother would kill me, anyway," Gavroche said with a shrug.

_Not if one of our father's men got to you first_, Éponine thought to herself, but she decided not to say it out loud.

After she had paid, Éponine and Gavroche left the restaurant. They had arranged for Juliette to pick Gavroche up from across the road. "How have you enjoyed yourself tonight?" Éponine asked as they waited for her car to show. She leaned against a lamp post, tucking her hands into her pockets.

"Yeah," Gavroche said. He smiled at her, but there was a definite look of discomfort beneath his grin. "I mean, I'm enjoying getting to know you…my sister. It's nice. I never thought…I never thought I'd get to meet a member of my family."

"Yeah, well." Éponine felt a little embarrassed. "I never thought I'd see you again. But I'm really glad you got in touch."

"I'm glad you replied," Gavroche replied.

"What time did your mother say she was getting here again?" Éponine turned to glance across the road where she assumed Juliette would pull up, but instead of seeing Juliette's car, she saw someone, someone she'd never wanted to see again.

He was a huge, hulking man, wide shoulders, thick wrists, big hands, with a straggle of greying brown hair to his shoulders and deep-set eyes above a hooked nose. He was staring right at them both.

For a few seconds, she caught his eye, and he held that eye contact. A slow smile spread across his face – if you could call it a smile; it was more of a grimace, a bearing of teeth, completely humourless.

It was a threat. A warning. That's what his smile was.

She whirled around, stepping closer to Gavroche. "Gavroche, don't be obvious, but look behind me," she hissed. "Do you see that man across the road? Tall, big, in the check shirt?"

Gavroche nodded.

"He is a bad man," Éponine said. "If you ever see him when we're not together – if you see him near your home, or your school, or he's watching you – call the police."

Gavroche frowned. "Should we call them now?"

"No," Éponine said, glancing over her shoulder. He was gone. "It's just a request. Please. Please don't question it too much, just…just listen to me. Take my word on it. He's not a good person."

Realisation seemed to dawn on her brother's face. "He's connected to our father, isn't he?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"What's his name?" Gavroche said.

"Gueulemer," Éponine said. Juliette's car pulled up across the road, right next to the spot where Gueulemer had been stood just moments before.

"What do you think he was after?" Gavroche demanded, as Juliette waved at them through her window. The glass rolled down, and she shouted across a hello.

"I don't know," Éponine said. "Hello, Juliette."

She nodded towards Juliette's car. "I'll see you soon," she said. "I'll call you and we can arrange something else for next week or whenever it is you want to meet up, okay?"

"Will you talk to me about that man then?" Gavroche asked, not moving an inch.

"Maybe," Éponine said. "Now go on before your mother starts thinking that something is wrong."

Gavroche ran across the road when there was a break in the traffic, and got into Juliette's car.

"Would you like a lift, Éponine?" Juliette said.

"No, it's fine," Éponine called. "It'd be going out of your way."

"Are you sure?" Juliette cocked her head to one side.

Éponine shook her head. "I'll be fine. Like I said, it's out of your way. Thanks, though. I'll see you both soon."

She waved at them and waited until Juliette's car had rejoined the main flow of traffic before turning and carrying on her way. Combeferre had told her he'd be at the café for when she was done. It was chilly out, and growing dark, so she hoped he might have ordered her a drink, or, more likely, had a hot drink she could steal when she arrived.

The busy high street gave way to quieter roads lined with houses and the occasional convenience store. The people thinned out as well, and that was when it occurred to Éponine that she was more or less alone.

Gueulemer's face flashed into her head, standing across the road from her, and that _smile_. A shiver ran down her spine, and a knot formed in her stomach. She glanced over her shoulder. Was that a person dashing into the alleyway behind her, or was it just a shadow she imagined moving?

Turning her head back around, she swallowed and began to walk a little faster. It really wasn't that far from the café, she told herself, feeling her pockets and wishing the comforting weight of her phone was there. Why had she thrown it? If she had it with her, she might have been able to phone someone, someone who could talk to her and make her feel less alone. Or maybe she could have got someone to come and meet her.

On that note, why hadn't she taken Juliette up on her offer of a lift? Surely the café wouldn't have been_ too_ out of Juliette's way, and if she _minded_ she wouldn't have offered…

Her entire body tensed as she heard footsteps behind her. She wanted to turn around, but her neck wouldn't move. A little voice whispered in her head, telling her it wasn't who she thought it was, and that her imagination was just playing tricks. _Don't overreact_, the voice said. It sounded an awful lot like Combeferre.

She sped up her steps. To her horror, the footsteps behind her seemed to speed up as well. She wasn't sure she could walk much faster without running, but that was silly – wasn't it?

She rounded the corner. Fear got the better of her as the footsteps behind her seemed to get faster, and she broke out into a run.

Her toe caught on a crack in the pavement, and she flung forwards. Her hands shot out to break her fall, scraping across the pavement. Her knees hit the ground hard, sickening, dull pain shooting up her thighs and down her shins.

A hand touched her shoulder. She let out a noise, a strangled noise somewhere between a shriek and a cry, and hell, she hoped she wasn't crying.

"Are you all right?" a man's voice said, but it wasn't the man's voice she had expected. It was softer, gruffer, and she turned to look into the face of an elderly man with kind hazel eyes and a shock of grey hair. He wore a green coat, and a little fluffy dog yapped around his ankles.

"I'm fine," she said, edging away from him.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," the man said.

"No, I just, I thought you might have been someone else." The word's tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

The man pulled his hand away and helped her to her feet. She brushed her hands over her legs, wincing when scrapes on her hands met the fabric of her jeans, and then wincing again when she touched her knees.

The little dog began to sniff her toe, and she stepped back again. "Thanks for helping me," she said, clearing her throat, before carrying on her way.

Her heart was still pounding in her chest, and adrenaline was still coursing through her body. She could hear the man walking behind her, but now his footsteps didn't fill her with fear; they were somewhat comforting, even though she knew that he would be no help if Gueulemer _had_ been following her.


	17. Someone with a Hero Complex

**_Chapter Seventeen_**

**Someone with a Hero Complex**

A couple of minutes later, Éponine reached the Café Musain and was grateful to walk inside. The café was pleasantly warm, and she shrugged out of her jacket as she made her way over to the sofas.

Combeferre was sat there, talking to Joly; Enjolras, meanwhile, was deep in conversation with Jehan, whilst Bahorel appeared to be asleep next to them, head tucked against Jehan's arm.

"Hey," she said, drawing level with them. She had never been happier to see a group of men in her life.

She placed her jacket down on the arm of the sofa next to Combeferre.

"Do you want me to get you a drink?" he offered. "I nearly got you a hot chocolate but I didn't know when you'd be finished."

"I'll get one myself, thanks," she said, pulling her purse out of her pocket. "I'll be back in a second."

The café was quiet, so her order was done very quickly. She carefully carried her hot drink back over to the sofas and placed it on the coffee table, squeezing in next to Combeferre.

He was staring at her, his eyes narrowed. She realised that his gaze focused specifically on her knees. Glancing down, she saw they were scuffed and muddy from her fall; there had been a light fall of rain earlier in the day and the moisture had caused all the dirt from the pavement to cling to her jeans.

"I fell," she said.

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. "You fell? How?"

"I was running," she said, picking some of the dirt off her knees.

"Running?" Combeferre echoed. His slender fingers wrapped around her wrist and gently turned her hand so it was facing upwards. The scrapes in her flesh looked angry against the pale skin of her hand, stark and pink and obvious. The one on her right hand was actually bleeding a little, tiny beads of red dotted over the exposed, shining layer beneath the one that had been scraped away in her fall. "Why were you running?"

So softly she barely felt it, he brushed his fingers over the cut, very carefully removing a tiny piece of grit from it. Then he took her other hand, examining the other scrape just as closely.

She cleared her throat and swallowed. "I was a bit spooked," she admitted, simultaneously wanting to pull her hands away from Combeferre and wanting to grip his hands back just as tightly. "I thought – I thought someone was following me."

Combeferre's hands went still around her wrist, but after a few heartbeats past, he readjusted his grip so that he was holding her hands properly. She did what she wanted to, then, and curled her fingers around his and held on as tightly as she could without hurting him.

His face was very soft as he looked at her, and the café around them, all their friends and the noise and the gentle acoustic music playing through the speakers, seemed to melt away. A soft sigh escaped his mouth and his eyes closed briefly before flashing open again. "Next time you meet up with Gavroche," he said, "do you want me to meet you so you're not walking back by yourself?"

She could feel his thumb brushing the inside of her wrist. The pressure of his palms against hers made the scrapes on her palm sting, but she found that she didn't mind at all. "I don't need walking everywhere," she answered him.

"I appreciate that," Combeferre said. "It's just – you seem scared, Éponine."

"I was," she whispered. "But – for reasons, you know?"

"Does it have to do with the other night?" he guessed.

She bit her lip.

"Something like that," she murmured.

He let go of her hands for a few moments before taking hold of her right hand in his left one, their fingers interlocking. "Just consider it."

"I think it's more urgent I get a phone, if I'm being honest," she replied, squeezing his hand.

"Yeah, I meant to speak to you about that," Combeferre said.

"I know, I know I need a new one but I can't afford one at the minute," Éponine said. "I could get a cheap old one, I suppose, second hand…I don't need it for anything other than phone calls ant texting."

She didn't feel the need to mention that her phone, the one she had broken the other night, had been a smart phone that was a few years old that she had taken painstaking care to make sure it looked new. She also did not feel the need to mention the fact she'd stolen it from a handbag a woman had left on the bar in her father's night club.

"Well, actually, my cousin's selling his phone," Combeferre said. "Because of his contract he gets a new upgrade whenever they bring out a new model, so he's selling his old one. I could probably get it for a cheap price, if you're interested, and then all we have to do is buy a SIM card…"

"How much money are we talking?" Éponine immediately felt suspicious.

"Just over a hundred," Combeferre said. "I'll pay."

"No, no, no." Éponine shook her head and dragged her hand out of his. "You're not buying it for me, not something that expensive. I appreciate the offer – really, I do – but if I'm going to get a phone I'm going to get it myself. As I said, I'll just get something cheap, nothing fancy."

He sighed, and took her hand in his again. "I didn't mean to offend you," he said.

"You didn't _offend_ me," she disputed. "It's just – you know – I _can_ buy one for myself. I get paid soon, I'll do it then."

"And until then?" he said.

"I'll just have to make do," she shrugged. In an attempt to lighten the mood, she grinned at him and nudged him with her shoulder. "I suppose I'm just going to have to spend more time with you," she said, with a wink.

"What a shame," he said, nudging her back with his elbow. Then his head leaned down and he pressed his mouth against the curve of her jaw. "If you reconsider about the phone…" he began, voice very soft.

"I'm not going to," she cut him off. "Like I said, I really do appreciate your offer, but I'm going to do it for myself. Now, about the other thing…"

"Walking with you?" Combeferre said. "Or picking you up, considering I have a car."

"Yeah, that." She rested her head against the back of the sofa. "I will take you up on that offer."

He smiled and leaned down to kiss her mouth. She kissed him back, forcing all thoughts of the footsteps and Gueulemer's frightening sneer to the back of her mind.

OOO

It was a week later that Musichetta suggested the girl's night out to Éponine.

Musichetta had popped around when Éponine was in the middle of cleaning her flat from top to bottom. She made the suggestion whilst making herself a cup of tea as Éponine sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, scrubbing some unknown stains from the front of the cupboards.

"A girl's night?" Éponine echoed.

"Yes," Musichetta said. "Is it our plan to scrape the varnish off those doors? They look clean to me."

"They're not," Éponine said, shortly. She'd had bad dreams the night before; it had been the first night she hadn't slept in the same bed as Combeferre in a while. She was therefore in a bad mood, and had decided cleaning was the best way to take her mind off it.

"Whatever you say," Musichetta said, stirring her tea. Éponine could hear the sound of the spoon clanking against the side of the mug. She gritted her teeth and dropped her sponge onto the floor, rubbing her soapy hands together.

"Can you pass me that towel?" Musichetta did as she was asked, handing Éponine a pale blue tea towel that was heaped on the side next to the kettle.

"Well?" Musichetta prompted as Éponine began to dry the cupboard.

"A girl's night out," Éponine said again.

"If I wanted a parrot I would have gone to the pet shop," Musichetta said. Éponine lowered the towel so it rested on her lap and stared at her.

"Just me and you?" she said, winding her hands into the towel.

"I was thinking of asking Cosette," Musichetta said. "Actually, I tell a lie, I've already _asked_ Cosette and she was delighted. You know, you and her do your thing every so often and I wanted to do my thing with you so I thought, let's combine the two."

"So she said yes?" Éponine surmised. "I'm assuming."

"Of course she said yes." Musichetta raised her mug to her lips and drank. She swallowed and said, "She doesn't _have_ any friends here and I don't think she's ever been 'out', as in, to the club. Are you all right with her being there?"

"Depends," Éponine said, picking at a loose thread on the towel. "Will Marius be coming with her?"

"I made it clear it was a no-boyfriend zone," Musichetta assured her. "But you've been better about that – like, when they're there together these days, you hardly bat an eyelid."

Éponine leaned against the cupboard. She considered what Musichetta had said. "I suppose that's true," she admitted. When had that happened, she thought to herself.

"Especially since you and Combeferre started your _thing_," Musichetta added, waggling her eyebrows. "By the way, I'm still really pissed off with you for not telling me about it."

"Get over it," Éponine said automatically. "Or phone Courfeyrac and tell him, he's probably dying to meet someone who's just as outraged as he is that we kept it quiet."

"I might just do that," Musichetta sniffed. "Anyway – so, to clarify – Cosette _will_ be there, but none of our boyfriends will, and that includes Combeferre."

"He's not my boyfriend," Éponine said sharply.

"Eh, semantics," Musichetta said, gesturing with the hand that wasn't holding her cup of tea. "The point is, he won't be there. You in?"

Groaning, Éponine pushed herself off the cupboard and inched backwards on her knees, grabbing the discarded sponge and starting to clean the next cupboard. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

Musichetta hummed and shook her head. "Nope," she said, smacking her lips together on the 'p'.

Éponine rolled her eyes.

OOO

It was decided by Musichetta and Cosette that they would get ready at Éponine's flat. Éponine wasn't sure why they had to get ready together, but before she knew it her friends were flapping about her apartment in their underwear, hogging her mirrors and sipping wine from mugs (Éponine had never bought wineglasses).

"How is Combeferre going to manage without you for a whole night, Éponine?" Musichetta demanded after she'd drunk her first mug, her eyes twinkling. Éponine found it hard to take her seriously considering one of her eyes was perfectly made up grey eye shadow and immaculately lined in black, but the other one was completely bare.

"I don't know, how is Joly going to manage for a night without you?" Éponine shot back, squinting into her small handheld mirror to see if her eyeliner was even.

"I don't mean to tease," Musichetta said. "It's just…cute."

"It's not cute," Éponine retorted.

"It is cute," Cosette chimed. "You two are adorable."

"Is this going to be a running theme?" Éponine capped her eyeliner and dropped it back into her make up bag. "People commenting on mine and Combeferre's…thing?"

"Probably, because it is, as Cosette said, adorable." Musichetta pouted at her reflection, all red lipstick and smoky eyes.

"It's no different from anyone else," Éponine said. "Musichetta, I don't remember pestering _you_ when you got together with Joly, and that was a proper, fully-fledged relationship."

"And yours and Combeferre _isn't_ a proper relationship?" Musichetta turned away from the mirror, raising one eyebrow. "Is that where you're going with this?"

Cosette looked up from applying her blusher to stare at Éponine.

"Of course it isn't," Éponine said. "We're – you know – friends with benefits."

"Well, yeah, so you two keep on saying, but you don't act like it," Musichetta snorted. She raised her mug to her lips and tipped wine into her mouth.

"So everyone else keeps on saying." Éponine placed her handheld mirror onto the coffee table. "I'm a bit sick of hearing it, if I'm being honest. And I thought this was supposed to be a girl's night?"

"It is," Cosette said.

"Then I'm voting to say that any mention of _men_ is banned," Éponine said, getting to her feet. "If that's all right with you two."

"Someone's a bit touchy on the subject," Musichetta muttered, waggling her eyebrows.

"I agree with Éponine, actually," Cosette cut in. "It would be fitting for a girl's night to be a completely boy-free zone."

"You're no fun," Musichetta said, sticking out her tongue and then letting her lower lip jut out, clearly upset that she'd lost her ally in teasing Éponine.

"Thank you, Cosette," Éponine said, shooting Musichetta a warning look and hoping that would be the end of it.

OOO

"Cheer up, Combeferre."

Combeferre looked up from his bottle of beer into Jehan's concerned face, realising that all of his friends were looking at him. The group was currently at Bossuet's apartment, having a few drinks. It had been suggested as an alternative to going out to a club as Bossuet hadn't any money at the minute, after Courfeyrac had become jealous of the night out the girl's in their group were planning.

"What's going on?" he said, staring around at his friends.

"I asked you a question," Bahorel said, tilting his head to one side.

"Sorry, I was miles away," Combeferre admitted.

"Yeah, we noticed," Courfeyrac drawled. "And you had a face like a slapped arse, hence the instruction to _cheer up_. C'mon, Combeferre, tonight is supposed to be fun."

"No, I know, I was just – thinking." He let his head flop backwards and it bounced off the cushion on the back of the sofa.

His friends all exchanged glances. Internally, he groaned.

"About a particular brunette, by any chance?" Feuilly was the first to chance.

"Do you even _have_ to ask?" Courfeyrac grinned. "Come on, Combeferre, spit it out. What's got you thinking?" He leaned forward, suddenly eager. "Are you going to make it official, or something?"

Combeferre narrowed his eyes at Courfeyrac. "Seriously, give it a rest with that subject. It's becoming repetitive."

"So what is it?" Jehan pressed, wrapping his hands tightly around the beer bottle in his hands.

Combeferre thought about the scrapes on Éponine's palms, the tremor in her voice when she'd said she'd been scared and that's why she had been running, and the bruises he'd seen on her knees that night when they were back in his apartment. It was the bruises that had done it for him, the sight of dark purple and greenish yellow mottling on her skin. All he could think of when he saw them was that she must have hit the ground with some force.

Then there was her nightmare, her hysterical crying, the running out of his apartment into the pouring rain. He knew there was something – probably more than something, probably a hell of a lot of things – that she wasn't telling him. Most of him didn't mind. He was a patient man, and he meant it when he told her that he didn't need to know until she felt comfortable enough to tell him.

But the small, small part of him, the nasty voice at the back of his mind, the impatient side to him, hadn't meant it. That side of him wanted to know. He wanted to know everything about her, about her mind, because he already knew about her body.

He wanted to know about her past, because there was a lot to know, and he wanted to know how she had got to this point in her life. And he wanted to know her demons. Because she clearly _had_ demons. He saw them creep up on her sometimes when she thought he wasn't looking, and then there was the panic attack and the nightmares…

Yes, he was a patient man. But he found himself wanting to protect Éponine. He knew that this was ridiculous, as a woman like Éponine didn't _need_ him to protect her. Whatever it was, she'd clearly been through a lot and hadn't needed him or a man like him to make it through to the other side. But when he _thought_ about it, he wanted to help her; it upset him when he thought of how alone she had been throughout her life. It was more than admirable what she'd managed to achieve – admirable sounded like too pathetic a word, like he was trivialising her struggles and past, and he _hated_ that, but he couldn't think of a better word – but he didn't want her to do it anymore. He didn't _want_ her to struggle on without anyone to help her. That realisation alone had come to him the other night when he saw the bruises on her knees, and it had scared him. But what had scared him more was the fact that, despite him being there and trying to help, she didn't _want_ him to help. She still _wanted_ to deal with things by herself.

So in that sense, he was torn. He wanted to help her. The impatient side of him wanted to help her. But the rest of him knew that wasn't fair, because Éponine didn't _want_ or _need_ his help…

He knew he hadn't spoken in a while and his friends were still staring at him so he tried to formulate what was on his mind into short, simple sentences that made sense. It was harder than he'd thought.

Eventually, what he blurted out was, "Something happened to Éponine and she won't tell me what and I'm worried about her."

Silence met his words. Courfeyrac nodded slowly and sank back into the sofa, an unwilling expression coming over his face. Combeferre knew that Courfeyrac was thinking of the night Éponine had fled from their apartment, and was grateful that Courfeyrac didn't bring it up. He felt enough like a dick for saying what he'd just said without revealing something Éponine clearly felt embarrassed about.

"Well, I think it's sweet that you're worried, but if Éponine doesn't _want_ to tell you she doesn't have to," Grantaire drawled. There was a defensive edge to his voice and Combeferre wondered whether this would get back to Éponine. Grantaire's loyalties in this circumstance were clearly placed wit her.

"No, I _know_ that," Combeferre said. "Look, I didn't want to talk about this, and I still don't. I _know_ she doesn't have to tell me and I'm not going to _make_ her, or anything, I'm not a dick. But I can't help but think about it sometimes."

"You're just going to have to be patient," Enjolras suggested.

"And understand that it's really none of your business," Grantaire muttered.

Jehan hit Grantaire with one of the bright red cushions that Musichetta had bought to liven up Bossuet's drab apartment. "Don't be a dick," he said.

"I'm not _being_ a dick," Grantaire replied, glowering at the smaller man.

"See, this is why I didn't want to say anything," Combeferre said. "Now Grantaire's gone and got the wrong impression."

"I just…don't think Éponine needs someone with a hero complex again," Grantaire said, voice very quiet. Combeferre bristled at the statement, but then Grantaire's steel grey eyes were sliding towards Marius, who suddenly looked uncomfortable. "We all know how well that worked last time."

"I do not have a hero complex," both Marius and Combeferre said at the same time.

"Look, whatever it is, Éponine can deal with it herself," Grantaire said sharply, gaze now focused firmly back on Combeferre. "Understand that she's been through a lot and she's come through it on the other side relatively unscathed, some anxiety issues aside, and whatever is bothering her now is just another hurdle she's going to get over and I have every faith she can do it by herself."

Combeferre knew then that Grantaire _knew_, knew whatever it was that was wrong with Éponine. He swallowed.

"Like I said," he murmured, "I'm not…going to be a dick about this. I've already told her I don't need to know what it is, I just…Worry about it."

"Why don't we change the subject?" Courfeyrac interrupted, loudly. "This is really dragging the mood down, guys. Tonight is supposed to be_ fun_."

There were a few mutters of agreement from some of their friends, whilst Grantaire continued to stare at Combeferre. Combeferre stared back.

A few more moments passed, before Grantaire broke his stare and got to his feet. "Who is up for ring of fire?" he said.

There were a few groans at the suggestion, one coming from Combeferre himself, but he was glad that the attention was away from him, even if it did mean playing ring of fire.

OOO

Much, much later, and thoroughly drunk, Combeferre lounged on the sofa, one leg hooked over the back and the other over the arm of the chair. He could hear the sounds of Bahorel vomiting in the bathroom (he'd had to drink the cup of everyone's combined drinks at the end of their game), combined with the sounds of Jehan's soothing voice and raucous singing from Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Grantaire and Bossuet. Joly was curled up on the other sofa, fast asleep, whilst Enjolras – the only one not to have participated in the game – was tidying up.

Combeferre's head felt full and empty all at once, and was spinning fast. Everything looked like it was far away, so when Marius appeared next to him, he didn't quite register it at first.

Marius was sat on the space between the coffee table and the sofa, his knees drawn up against his chest and his toes pressing into the edge of the sofa. His eyes looked vacant, and he was clasping the neck of a half-full bottle of beer loosely in his hands.

"Éponine," he said.

Combeferre raised his head, but realised quickly that was a bad idea and put it back down again. "Huh?"

"Éponine," Marius repeated.

"Yeah, I got that," Combeferre muttered, his head beginning to throb. "What about her?"

"When I was with her…" Marius paused, staring up at the ceiling. He blinked fast. "I…I get what you mean about her. Like, she didn't tell me things and sometimes…sometimes it annoyed me."

"It doesn't annoy me," Combeferre felt it necessary to point out.

"You know what I mean." Marius ran a hand through his hair. "But…if you want to know…Cosette knows a lot about her…"

"What?" Combeferre raised his head again, ignoring how it made his head swim, and this time sat up his entire body as well. "What do you mean?"

"Cosette knows some things about Éponine," Marius said.

"Has she told _you_?" Combeferre felt irritated at the idea that Marius might know…

Marius shook his head. "No, Cosette won't tell me."

Combeferre felt his body relax somewhat. "So…what are you…what are you suggesting?"

"Well, Cosette might tell you," he said. "I think. It's an idea. You know, if you _really_ wanted to know."

"But she won't even tell you and you're her boyfriend," Combeferre pointed out.

"Yeah, but you love Éponine." Marius yawned and sighed at the same time, pressing his forehead into his knee. "It's different," he managed to mutter, before getting to his feet and toddling off, leaving Combeferre to process the conversation they'd just had alone.


	18. Just Like Old Times

**_Chapter Eighteen_**

**Just Like Old Times**

They chose to go to Corinth, because it was a club that was familiar to them and it was reasonably close to Éponine's apartment. They got a taxi, because they were already slightly tipsy before they got there and none of them thought it was a good idea for Musichetta to be walking that far in the six inch heels she'd chosen to wear.

The club was busy, as it was a Friday night, and the air inside was hot, thick and heavy. The girls made a beeline for the bar, Cosette buying in the first round of drinks for them all (a Bacardi and coke for Éponine, vodka and orange for herself and Musichetta).

They drank as they danced, and Éponine was beginning to enjoy herself. She was used to Musichetta's dancing, which was slinky and sexy and always up close and personal, but Cosette's dancing was refreshingly different. She was all little spins and arms swinging above her head, laughter permanently spilling from her lips. Éponine found herself dancing hand in hand with Cosette for a full twenty minutes before she decided to go outside for a cigarette.

She motioned to her friends that she was going outside and was surprised when they left the dance floor with her. However, they turned off for the toilets, leaving her to go outside alone.

She wound up talking to the bouncers as she smoked her cigarette, discussing the incredibly drunk man who had just been thrown out for threatening the bar staff. She stubbed out her cigarette into the little metal bin fixed to the wall and said her goodbyes, descending the stairs into the club once more.

Musichetta and Cosette were at the bar when she came down. She fought her way through the crowds to stand beside them. That was when she realised they were talking to someone.

"…but if you were _my_ girlfriend, I wouldn't be letting you come to a club alone," a man drawled. Éponine's entire body stiffened as she took in the sight of Gueulemer stood next to her friends, his body leaning against the bar. He'd had a shave and his shirt wasn't as grubby as it had been the last time she'd seen him, and there was a bottle of Budweiser in his hand. His eyes slid to her. "I mean, anything can happen."

Cosette gave a nervous chuckle. "Well, my boyfriend trusts me."

Éponine looked over her friends. Musichetta looked highly unimpressed with Gueulemer's presence, and Cosette just looked uncertain, like she wanted to spin around and run away.

"As they've both said, you're barking up the complete wrong tree," Éponine said, wedging herself between Cosette and Gueulemer. "They're both taken."

"And what about you?" Gueulemer looked delighted that she had acknowledged him. "Are _you_ taken?" He raised his eyebrows as he said the last word.

"It's none of your business," Éponine said. "Why don't you piss off and leave me and my friends alone?"

"So _touchy_." Gueulemer drained his bottle and dropped it so hard onto the bar top that it fell over and rolled away, crashing over the edge. "A dance before I go?"

Before Éponine could respond, Gueulemer had his hands around her upper arms and was steering her towards the dance floor. The pressure of his hands actually hurt, and it felt like he was holding the actual bone in his palms.

"Don't cause a scene," he hissed in her ear.

His large form cut them an easy path through the dance floor until they were in the farthest corner. It was the same corner that Éponine had danced in with Combeferre for the first time. She wished he was there now, waiting for her, to help her.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" she hissed as he let her go. She didn't back off, but instead crowded closer to him. "Get the _fuck_ out of my life and stay out of it. What the hell do you want?"

Gueulemer placed his hands on her hips and dragged her body so it was flush against his. She shoved at him, digging her nails into his chest. "Keep doing that and you're only going to get me excited," he sneered, bending in so he was speaking into her hair. His breath smelled foul. "It's just like old times isn't it, Éponine?"

"Get off me," she snapped, yanking at his wrists. His hands moved, gripping her upper arms once more. "What the hell do you _want_ from me?"

"It's not me," he said. "But you know that."

She stomped on his foot. The larger man winced and released her. "I don't give a _shit_ who wants what, Gueulemer, but I do want you to fuck off. And tell your little friend to back off as well."

"Or what?" Gueulemer stepped closer to her once more. She swallowed.

"Just stay the fuck away from me and my friends," she shouted. "I mean it, Gueulemer. And pass that on. Pass it on to my father, to all the pathetic scum you call friends."

All of a sudden, his hand was at her throat. There was no pressure placed upon her windpipe, but the threat was there. His hand spanned her neck, his thumb tucking beneath her chin.

"Be careful, Éponine," he warned. "You talk big, but it's all bullshit and we all know it. Don't try and tell us what to do."

She narrowed her eyes. "I do whatever the hell I want to these days," she said to him, and slapped his hand away from her throat. His eyes blazed.

"I think you've forgotten, Éponine, just who it is you're fucking with here," he hissed.

"And I could say the same thing to you, Gueulemer." She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not scared of _you_."

"You should be," Gueulemer spat, before turning on his heel and shoving his way through the crowds of dancers. Éponine followed after at a slower pace, feeling sick, her body shaking.

Cosette and Musichetta appeared, followed by one of the bouncers. Both of the other girls flung themselves on Éponine when they saw her. "Are you okay?" Musichetta demanded, holding her at arm's length.

"I'm fine," Éponine said. "I think he's leaving."

The bouncer nodded. "We'll keep a look out for him – your friends' gave us a description – and if he comes near you again, just give us a shout."

Éponine let herself be pulled into the toilets.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Cosette said, tucking an arm around her shoulders.

"Really, I'm okay." Éponine pressed the heel of her hand into her eyes. "I think…I'm sorry, guys, but I think I just want to go home."

Musichetta hugged her from behind, pressing her face into her neck. "I'll call a taxi," she said.

Musichetta pulled away and fished her phone out of her clutch bag. She went into a cubicle and shut the door behind her.

Cosette took her own phone out of her bag. "I'll call Marius and see where he is," she said. "They're all at Bossuet's tonight."

Éponine cleared her throat. "Could you do me a favour?"

"Sure." Cosette cocked her head to one side expectantly.

"Can you ask him if Combeferre's around? And if he is, can you ask him to ask Combeferre if I can stay at his tonight?" Éponine folded her arms over her chest.

Cosette nodded, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

OOO

Whilst she knew they'd been drinking, Éponine hadn't expected any of the men to be as drunk as they were when they went to Bossuet's apartment.

Marius had told them to come over as Enjolras hadn't been drinking and was offering to ferry them all home. Éponine just wanted to see Combeferre, so she went along with the plan.

Combeferre, however, was swaying on the spot when she found him, not wearing shoes or socks, and his shirt was nearly completely unbuttoned.

"Hullo," he said, blinking at her. "You look nice."

She looked down at herself, at the short bandage dress patterned with splashes of purple, indigo and navy blue that she'd been so happy to be wearing just hours earlier. Now, though, she just wanted to be in her pyjamas, in flat shoes that weren't killing her feet.

"Thanks," she sighed, and stepped closer to him. Behind him, Courfeyrac and Jehan were doing a jig, whilst Bahorel lolled on the sofa next to them; Joly was being woken by Musichetta, as Marius kissed Cosette hello. Grantaire and Feuilly were playing what looked like a card game, kneeling next to the coffee table.

She began to button Combeferre's shirt as Enjolras emerged from a room, closing the door behind him. There was a hassled look on his face.

"Who is staying here and who is going home?" he demanded, planting his hands on his hips.

"Well, judging by his refusal to get up, Joly and I are kipping on the sofa," Musichetta said.

"Marius and I are going home," Cosette said, cupping her boyfriend's face in her hands.

Grantaire and Feuilly gestured at their card game. "Gotta stay," Feuilly said, looking distracted.

"Yeah, Bossuet said we could all stay," Grantaire muttered, narrowing his eyes at the cards in his hands.

Bahorel grunted from his supine position on the sofa. "I can't move," he said. "Or I'll probably be sick."

Courfeyrac and Jehan just kept on dancing. Éponine finished buttoning Combeferre's shirt and smoothed her hands over his chest.

"Where are your shoes?" she asked him, then leaned around him to look at Enjolras. "Can we get a lift with you?"

"Of course you can," Enjolras said. "And his socks are in the fish tank."

"The fish tank?" Éponine glanced around the room.

"It's in Bossuet's room," Enjolras said. "The fish died a long time ago, though. He just never threw it away. I wouldn't go in there if I were you, though, he's just stopped throwing up and he threatened to kill me if I didn't switch off the light."

"What the hell happened here?" Éponine asked as Combeferre placed his hands on her hips and pressed a sloppy kiss to her forehead. She frowned and pushed him away gently.

"Ring of fire," Enjolras said. "Three times."

"Three rounds of ring of fire?" Éponine shook her head. "Wow."

"Not everyone played it three times," Enjolras said. "They're all going to feel sorry for themselves in the morning. Now, I don't know where Combeferre put his shoes…"

"Éponine," Combeferre whined. "Éponine…"

"Yes, Combeferre," Éponine sighed, reaching up to brush her hands over his hair. He leaned into her touch.

"Can we go home?" he asked.

"When we've found your shoes," she promised. "Where did you put them?"

"I think…I think I put them in the kitchen," he said.

She let go of him to venture into the kitchen. Sure enough, Combeferre's Converse were sat in the middle of the floor. She ducked down and picked them up and brought them back to him, holding his hand as support as he shoved them onto his feet.

Things moved quickly after that. Cosette rounded up Marius' shoes, Courfeyrac decided his could left behind, and then Jehan decided to fall asleep on the floor; therefore the five of them had to squash into Enjolras' car.

Courfeyrac took the front seat, and Cosette, Marius, Éponine and Combeferre crowded into the backseat. Éponine felt like they were looking after a bunch of children and was grateful when Enjolras stopped at Cosette and Marius' flat first.

It left just her and Combeferre in the backseat, their conjoined hands resting on the empty space between them. In the front, Courfeyrac chattered away, his mouth moving at a million miles an hour whilst Enjolras let out the occasional 'hmm' or 'ah'.

"It's not that late," Combeferre mumbled to her. "You can't have been out that long…"

"We wanted to come home," Éponine said. "Besides, I think you'd all had enough to drink…"

"I don't think I'll drink again," Combeferre muttered.

"You're saying that already?" Éponine squeezed his hand. "God, I'm not sure I _want_ to wake up with you tomorrow morning. You'd better not be all grouchy."

"_You'd_ better not be all grouchy," he shot back in a childish manner.

She rolled her eyes. "Be quiet, 'Ferre, you're very drunk," she said. "Please, do _not_ ever play ring of fire again. Especially not three times. I wouldn't be surprised if you all have alcohol poisoning or –"

"I only played it once," Combeferre insisted, his lower lip jutting out. She snorted. She hadn't realised a lot of alcohol brought out Combeferre's inner child.

"Yeah, it was Bahorel and Bossuet and Marius who played it more than once," Courfeyrac chimed in.

"And Grantaire?" Éponine guessed.

"No, he just filmed it on his phone," Courfeyrac snorted. "It was funny, actually. We _say_ ring of fire, but the rules just went out of the window and it was basically just them throwing cards around, making up shitty rules and spilling drinks everywhere."

"It wasn't that funny," Enjolras said. "When Bahorel poured his drink onto Jehan's shoes by accident I thought Jehan was going to swing for him."

"Honestly, the beer will only have improved those shoes," Courfeyrac sniffed. "They were pink leopard print."

"That's besides the point," Enjolras sighed. "The point _being_ no one needed a scrapping Jehan and Bahorel on their hands."

"Has that ever happened?" Éponine wondered, as Combeferre began to snore beside her.

"What, Jehan and Bahorel fighting?" Courfeyrac said. "No, but I'd pay money to see it."

"I wouldn't," Enjolras said.

"Well, Enjolras has a point in that Jehan is one vicious fucker sometimes," Courfeyrac said. "He'd probably rip Bahorel's hair out."

"To be fair, in those circumstances I would put my money on Jehan," Enjolras said, turning the corner onto Combeferre's and Courfeyrac's street.

Even though Combeferre was cognisant enough to be able to walk up the stairs with just Éponine holding his hand, Enjolras still followed them up into the apartment.

Courfeyrac let them in, and then immediately began to sing at the top of his voice, jangling his keys as instrumental back up.

"Courf, keep it down," Enjolras scolded in a quiet voice.

Combeferre recognised the song and began to sing with him. Éponine rolled her eyes. "I had no idea we'd get a free show tonight," she said to Enjolras, watching as Courfeyrac grabbed Combeferre and began to waltz them around their apartment.

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. "Neither did I," he said. "Almost makes me glad I decided to give you a lift home."

"Yeah, thanks for that." Éponine sat on the sofa and rubbed her arms. She winced as she passed over the parts where Gueulemer had gripped so tightly.

"Your arms are bruised," Enjolras observed. "Did something happen at the club?" He leaned his hip against the countertop behind him. "Because I thought you guys finished up pretty quickly."

"Just some guy got a bit hands on, that's all," Éponine shrugged. "It's fine."

The expression on Enjolras' face suggested he didn't quite believe that for one second, but he didn't push it. Instead, his eyes slid back over to his still-dancing friends and then he said, "So, are you going to be all right with these two?"

Éponine began to undo her heels and take them off her feet, letting them drop with a dull thud onto the carpet. "I should be fine," she said, as Courfeyrac twirled Combeferre.

"Stay, Enjolras," Courfeyrac boomed, flourishing one of his arms. "Dance with us!"

For a brief few seconds, Enjolras looked like he might agree. But then he shook his head. "No, my bed at home is calling," he said.

"The sofa is always free if you did want to stay," Éponine suggested. "I don't think either of those two are ready to go to bed just yet, though."

"Or, or, or…" Courfeyrac stopped dancing long enough to waggle his eyebrows at Enjolras. "You could share _my_ bed."

"I'm flattered at your enthusiasm, Courf, but you're not my type," Enjolras said.

"An arrow to my heart," Courfeyrac sighed, "But after more than twenty years of friendship, I think I kind of knew that."

"And on that note, I'm going to go," Enjolras said. "Good luck with these two, Éponine."

"Thanks," Éponine said, folding her legs beneath herself as Combeferre flopped down onto the sofa next to her and placed his head in her lap. She tangled her fingers in his hair and watched as Courfeyrac shut the door behind Enjolras with a flourish. He spun on the spot, clapping his hands together.

"So," he said, "Do either of you want to carry on drinking?"

Éponine looked down at Combeferre, who was blinking rapidly and smacking his lips. She looked up at Courfeyrac, and realised he was also staring at Combeferre.

Courfeyrac shook his head. "I'm going to take that as a _no_."

Combeferre's eyes drifted shut, and a couple of moments later, he let out a quiet snore.

Courfeyrac sat on the sofa opposite them. Éponine looked at him, combing her fingers through Combeferre's hair. Looking away from Courfeyrac for a few seconds, she removed Combeferre's glasses from his face, hooking them over the neckline of her dress.

"He really likes you, you know," Courfeyrac said, his voice suddenly very quiet, in stark contrast to the loud shouting from just a few minutes earlier.

Éponine kept her eyes fixed on Combeferre's face. "Does he?" she said.

"You know he does." She lifted her eyes. Courfeyrac was leaning forward in his seat, but when she looked at him he suddenly eased backwards, linking his fingers together behind his head. "He's worried about you."

"I don't need him to be worried about me," Éponine murmured.

"You sound like Grantaire," Courfeyrac replied. "I know you don't…_need_ him to be worried about you. But he is. I don't want to see him hurt."

"I don't plan on hurting him." Éponine made her voice clearer, louder, firmer. "This conversation ends if you think I would do that."

"I don't think you'd do it intentionally," Courfeyrac said. "Never intentionally. But sometimes…things happen."

He leaned forward once more, now linking his hands together between his legs. "I'm a bit drunk right now, Éponine, so I'm going to be completely honest with you," he said. "I have known Combeferre since we were seven. I know him well. He might as well be my brother, and I love him. Just as he worries about you, I worry about him. And this situation you two have going on? It worries me."

Éponine frowned and wriggled, adjusting the way she was sat. She let her hand rest on Combeferre's head. "It worries you? How?"

"Because he cares," Courfeyrac said.

"And _that_ worries you?" Éponine raised her eyebrows. "Why would _that_ worry you?"

"Because he cares in the wrong way," Courfeyrac said, punctuating his words with little nods of the head. "I mean, _I_ care for you, and I care for you in a way that, in my opinion, would suit a 'friends with benefits' type relationship, like the one that you two have going on."

"And your point is?" Éponine prompted, wanting him to get to the point and get to it fast.

"Combeferre cares more than that," Courfeyrac said. "You must realise that. And the way _he_ cares…it can only get messy."

Éponine nodded slowly. "I think I see where you're coming from."

Courfeyrac visibly relaxed.

She cleared her throat. "However, you're missing something," she continued. "You're assuming here that he cares for me more than I care for him, and _that_ is why you think it will get messy. Am I right?"

After a few seconds, Courfeyrac bowed his head in confirmation.

"Then you're wrong," she said. "You're wrong."

The corner of Courfeyrac's mouth quirked up in something like amusement, only there was nothing at all that resembled humour in his eyes. "I hoped I would be," he said.

Éponine bit her lip. "Is the heart to heart over and done with?" she asked. "Can I take Combeferre to bed now?"

"Not just yet." Courfeyrac unfastened his hands from each other and rested his chin on them. He pulled a face. "I hope I didn't just come across as aggressive. That really wasn't my intention. I just…"

"You're worried about a friend," Éponine interrupted in a gentle voice. "Whilst I can't honestly say that this conversation hasn't annoyed me a little bit, I can't be bothered holding it against you. Who knows, if the shoe was on the other foot and you were in some friends with benefits arrangement with, say, my sister, I'd probably be worse."

Before Courfeyrac could say anything more on the subject, Éponine shook Combeferre's shoulder. He woke slowly, a strangled noise escaping his throat and a look of uncertainty on his face. She chuckled at the sight, and smoothed his hair out of his face.

"C'mon, 'Ferre," she murmured. "Let's get you to bed…"


	19. Bruises

**Warnings: Violence, forced prostitution, implied rape**

**_Chapter Nineteen_**

**Bruises**

Combeferre woke with a thumping headache and a grubby, unpleasant taste in his mouth. Smacking his lips together, he internally told himself off for excessive alcohol consumption and rolled onto his back.

The movement caused his arm to bump into Éponine, who was curled up in a foetal position beside him. One of her arms was stretched above her head, across both of their pillows, her fingers curling into the softness. Her other arm was lying across his side, the weight of her hand light on his stomach.

She was a sight for sore eyes, he thought to himself. He felt like shit but looking at Éponine made him feel just a little bit better about himself. Her dirt-brown hair was knotted and tangled from restless sleep, and last night's eye make up was smudged around her eyes, but she was wearing one of his oldest, rattiest T-shirts over her underwear and a warm, cosy feeling that he was sure was contentment bloomed in his stomach.

He edged his body backwards and rolled completely onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow and hand to watch her. His head protested, but as her hand flexed on his abdomen other parts of his body began to respond. Smiling to himself, he ducked his head down to press his mouth to the corner of her jaw. But something caught his eye that had him stilling just a few inches away from her skin, and then pulling backwards so he could see her clearly.

There were bruises on her arms, marring her tanned skin. He frowned to himself. There were some poking out from beneath the sleeve of the T-shirt, and some more on her wrists and stretching up her forearms. He swallowed down a burst of anger as he observed how similar the bruises were shaped like fingers. He reached out with one hand to gently lift the sleeve of his T-shirt so he could have a closer look at the bruises on her upper arm.

The anger burned a little harder, eating away at the bloom of contentment that had once resided in his abdomen. He watched as Éponine slowly woke, her eyes blinking and her mouth yawning. Her hand tightened on his hip and she drew herself closer to him, snuggling her face into his chest.

He dropped his hand from the T-shirt to loop his arm around her, embracing her tightly. Her knotted hair tickled his chin and neck as he rested his head on top of hers.

"How is your head feeling this morning?" she asked, through yet another yawn. Her voice sounded thick and was heavy with the sleep she had just woken from.

"It's fine," he lied, because his head felt just about ready to roll off his shoulders. But he didn't care about that right now. He cleared his throat. "Uh, sorry if I was being a bit…you know, if I was _too drunk_ last night."

"You were funny," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

"I didn't…I didn't grab you, did I?" He braced himself for her answer. The anger he felt was aimed at himself; he couldn't remember much about last night and he hated the idea he might have hurt her whilst drunk.

"No, of course not," Éponine said. She pulled back from him, and there was a frown on her face, surprise in her chocolate brown eyes. "Why would you think that? You were just being a bit silly, that's all. Trust me, if you had _grabbed _me I wouldn't be here right now."

She pulled herself up so she was looming over him. He let his head fall back into the pillow. "There are bruises on your arms," he said, quietly. "If I touched you harder than…"

"Don't be stupid," she said, fiercely. Her eyes flickered downwards, presumably cataloguing her bruises, but then they fixed on his. "They're nothing to do with you, Combeferre." Her face softened a little. "You've never hurt me, drunk or otherwise, and I don't think you ever would."

"I just can't remember much from last night," Combeferre admitted.

"Well, you were being _silly _last night,"  
Éponine sighed. "You put your socks in a fish tank and waltzed with Courfeyrac. And you tried having sex with me, but fell out of the bed instead. Then you went to sleep. But you certainly had nothing to do with the bruises on my arms."

He put his hands on her hips, and she climbed over him, straddling his waist. "What happened, then?" he said, slipping his hands underneath the T-shirt to rest on her bare skin.

"Nothing," she said, bending down and pressing her mouth to his, silencing the next words that were about to leave his mouth.

OOO

Later, Éponine went home for a shower and to change her clothes, and Combeferre went to the Café Musain. They were going to meet there when she was finished, and then they were going phone shopping.

He got to the café and found Cosette and Marius snuggling on one of the sofas, her more or less sat in his lap. Jehan sat opposite them, scribbling in a notebook.

Combeferre bought himself a cup of coffee before joining them, sitting next to Jehan.

"You look rough," Jehan sang.

"You don't look much better yourself," Combeferre grumbled. "And you didn't see me when I woke up this morning."

"I can imagine it was a sight to behold," Jehan snickered, writing something with a flourish in his notebook.

"You put your socks in Bossuet's fish tank," Marius piped up from the other sofa.

"Yeah, so I've been told," Combeferre said. "Éponine was very amused by me this morning."

"It could have been worse," Cosette said, voice comforting. "Bahorel was in a state from what I saw."

"Oh, God." Jehan paused in his writing and waved his pen in the air. "No, he actually _was_ in a complete state, I don't think I've ever seen him that drunk before and that's saying something. He started a fight with the wall at one point, I think."

"No, he didn't," Marius disputed. "Enjolras said something that Bahorel took offence to so he tried to punch the wall."

"Tried?" Cosette raised her eyebrows.

"Grantaire stopped him," Marius finished. "That was when Bahorel started being sick."

Cosette patted her boyfriend on the cheek. "I'm so glad I've never had to wipe up your vomit," she said. "I love you, but not that much."

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and then hopped off the sofa. "I'll be back in a sec," she said, sashaying off to the toilets.

The minute that the toilet doors swung shut Marius leaned forward in his seat.

"Did Éponine tell you what happened last night?" Marius said in a low voice. Jehan raised his head, tapping his pen against the notepad on his lap.

"No," Combeferre said. "What happened? Did I do something?"

"No, I don't mean with you or us." Marius shook his head. "I mean, at the club. Whilst she was out."

Jehan cleared his throat, an uneasy expression on his face. Combeferre took a sip of his coffee, his heart beating rapidly with the anticipation of learning something new. "She didn't tell me anything," he said.

"Look, I only know because Cosette told me this morning," Marius said, rubbing his hands on his knees. "But last night, this man hit on Cosette and Éponine intervened. He grabbed her and dragged her off and they ended up calling security." There was a pause as Combeferre tried to process the information, his mind going straight to ugly bruises on Éponine's arms and wrists, and the knot of anger returned, this time aimed at this faceless foe. "I just thought you should know, you know…given the conversation we all had last night."

"Marius," Jehan said in a voice that was clearly an admonishment. "That is _not_ your story to tell! If Éponine hasn't told Combeferre she clearly has her reasons –"

"They might as well be boyfriend and girlfriend and some bloke manhandled Éponine last night," Marius shot back. "If that was Cosette, I'd want to know."

Combeferre put his cup of coffee down on the table between the two sofas and then raked his hands through his hair. "Shit. I mean…She has bruises on her arms and stuff and I knew something had happened, but I just thought…" He left the sentence open, not wanting to admit that he had thought the worst of himself.

"Combeferre, I am telling you don't over think this," Jehan said. "Éponine is a very private person, as was discussed last night, and she doesn't _have_ to tell you these things if she doesn't feel comfortable with it."

"I know that," Combeferre said, absently. "I just…I just wish that she'd told me."

"I'm sure she has her reasons," Jehan said, shooting Marius a reproachful look.

Combeferre nodded, not really listening.

OOO

Éponine and Combeferre returned to her apartment later that day with a brand new phone in Éponine's possession. It was nothing fancy or special but it still took a chunk out of Éponine's pay check, despite Combeferre's attempts to pay for it. Still, she was happy feeling the weight of it in her back pocket again, comforted by the knowledge she now had a means of getting hold of people (and by the fact that her phantom caller couldn't possibly have her new number).

"Do you still want to get a take away?" Éponine asked, dumping the carrier bag onto the kitchen table and shrugging out of her jacket. "I'm already hungry."

Combeferre nodded, sinking into the sofa. "Sure."

"What do you fancy?" Éponine rooted through the kitchen drawer where she kept random bits and bobs including take away menus. "If we want an Indian, we'll have to walk and get it, we're to close by for them to deliver…But I fancy something with noodles. Do you fancy Chinese?"

"Éponine, can I ask you something?"

Combeferre's voice was so serious that Éponine shut the drawer and walked over to the sofas, not bringing any menus with her. She kicked off her shoes as she sat down. "Shoot," she said, wondering what it could possibly be.

Combeferre's hand snaked out and caught her wrist very gently, his fingers running over the bruises that stood out dark and angry against her skin. Her stomach sank. She didn't want anymore questions on this subject.

"I know what happened," he said, his voice very quiet. "Marius told me."

"And I'm assuming that Cosette told her," Éponine guessed. "Right, so you know. What of it?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Combeferre's eyes were very serious, and his hands were just stroking the inside of her wrist _so_ gently.

"I wasn't aware I had to," Éponine said. "It was scary and I didn't feel like talking about it. Besides, you were in no fit state to talk about it last night."

"And this morning?" He quirked one eyebrow upwards. "We were talking about the bruises and you didn't mention it once."

She sighed heavily and pulled her wrist away from his, even when he tried to hold on. "I repeat," she said, slowly, "I wasn't aware I _had_ to. I didn't feel like talking about it and I _still_ don't want to, so can we drop the subject?"

"Éponine, a man hurt you last night and you didn't even think to tell me," Combeferre said. "Do you see the problem here?"

Her defences went up immediately. She got to her feet, returning to the kitchen. "Not really, no," she shot over her shoulder, rooting in the kitchen drawer again. "So was that a 'yes' to a Chinese?"

"Don't change the subject," Combeferre said, and she felt his presence behind her.

"Well, I did warn you that it was a subject I _wanted_ to change," she said, pulling out the Chinese menu and shutting the drawer. She turned to face him, holding the menu over her chest.

"Someone hurt you," Combeferre said. Éponine nodded.

"Yes, yes they did," she confirmed. "But I fail to see how _telling you_ would actually help the situation. What are you going to do about it?"

He faltered for a few moments. "That's besides the point. I wanted to know, because…well, because I care."

"And?" She let the menu in her hand fall onto the countertop behind her and then folded her arms over her chest.

"Seriously? _And_?" Combeferre shook his head in disbelief. "Since when was it a crime to care for someone? Since when was it a bad thing that I'm upset someone hurt you? Do you not trust me enough to _talk to me_ about these things?"

"It's not about _trust_, and it's not about you," Éponine hissed. "None of this is about you! I wouldn't have told _anybody_."

"That's not true," Combeferre said, a memory coming back to him from last night. "You tell Grantaire things. _He_ knows things –"

"I haven't told Grantaire jack shit, Combeferre!" She planted her hands on her hips now, stepping towards him, stepping into his personal space. "Don't take the fact a man grabbed me in a club and make it about my _trust issues_. I just don't want to talk about it because you don't need to know. I'm dealing with it."

"You're dealing with it?" he echoed. "How are you 'dealing with it'? Have you gone to the police?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, Combeferre, it's complicated," she said. "It…he…he wasn't a stranger."

"You knew him?" Combeferre's mouth gaped open. "You know who he is?"

"Yeah, but it's been a long time since I've seen him and I don't plan on seeing him ever again," Éponine said, even though she couldn't be sure that he wouldn't show up again. Deep down, she knew that she would – Gueulemer had said as much himself.

"I hope not, if he can do _that_ to you," Combeferre said, glowering and gesturing to the bruises on her arms. She looked down at them herself, and sighed.

She placed her hands on his stomach, invading his personal space even more. "I'm touched that you're worried," she murmured. "But I am dealing with it. Please. Just let me deal with it and…" She curled her fingers into his shirt. "Don't get angry with me, because I don't think you have a right to be. I didn't keep it from you out of malice or because I didn't trust you, I didn't say anything because I didn't _want_ to worry you and because I am fully capable of handling it."

"I know you are," Combeferre muttered.

"Then let me," she said. "Just let me deal with it myself."

"I just want you to feel you can talk to me about things," he replied.

"I do think I can if I need to," Éponine assured him. "But I don't want to just yet. I know, though, that when I _do_ feel ready, I can talk to you."

She rose onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Sorry," he mumbled against her lips as she wrapped her hands around the back of his head, pulling him down to her level. His glasses pressed into her face and a lock of his hair tickled her forehead as their kiss deepened.

It was her who broke the kiss first. She stepped back from him and watched with amused eyes as he stumbled forward, lips still pursed. "I don't remember you giving me an answer about food," she said, reaching out for the menu that lay on the countertop. She placed her hand over it, but didn't actually pick it up.

"Right now, I don't particularly care about food," Combeferre muttered in a voice that was almost a growl. "Come here." The hands that circled her wrist were very gentle as he pulled her flush against his body.

"What, so no take away?" Éponine giggled as his hands played with the hem of her T-shirt.

He pressed his face into her neck, dropping soft, feathery, barely-there kisses over her throat. "I am sorry," he murmured.

"So am I," she whispered back in response, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. He walked them backwards until her hips hit the countertop, and then he was lifting her onto the surface. He kissed her mouth hungrily, hands exploring beneath her T-shirt and playing with the buttons on her jeans. Her own hands slipped to toy with the zipper on his trousers.

"Do you want…bedroom," Combeferre muttered breathlessly, hot, wet kisses pressing to her jaw line.

"I'm fine right here," she mumbled in response, taking her hands off his back to begin peeling her jeans down her thighs.

"Well, if you insist," he said, his hands covering hers to help her finish removing her jeans. Yanking them from her ankle, he let them drop on the kitchen floor.

He paused, then, pulling back to look at her. He let his hand rest on her thighs, his fingers drawing lazy circles on the inside of her legs.

"What?" she said, clasping her hands on either side of his neck and tilting her head back to look him properly in the eye.

"Nothing," he said, quietly. "I was just…thinking."

She opened her mouth to ask _what_ exactly he had been thinking, but he silenced her by pressing his lips against hers, swallowing her question with his kiss.

OOO

_"I promise, Éponine, it'll just be this once."_

_"But…"_

_"C'mon, baby. I need this. _We _need this to happen. If you do this, he'll clear my debts, I won't owe him a thing. And I promise, babe, I won't do it again. I promise. It's just once…"_

OOO

_He was too thin, and she couldn't see his face properly, and he smelled like cigarettes and BO and alcohol. When he kissed her, she could taste the alcohol on his breath, taste the cigarettes he'd smoked and taste the fact he probably hadn't brushed his teeth any time recently._

_She felt sick, sick to the bottom of her stomach. His hands were everywhere. It was like he had ten hands instead of two, and they started out gentle, but then suddenly they were ripping and…_

OOO

_Through her sleepy haze, she could hear voices. "Fuck, 'Parnasse, why would you let her near _him_?" a voice she vaguely recognised demanded._

_"He asked for her specifically."_

_"Yeah, and he beat the shit out of her." There was a pause, and then, "I know you've given her the odd smack but fucking hell, 'Parnasse, I didn't recognise her. Do you know I nearly called an ambulance when I saw her? She needs –"_

_"She'll fucking put up with it, okay? All that matters is I don't owe him money anymore."_

_"Seriously? You let him damn hear fucking kill her just so he wouldn't do it to you?"_

_"Hey, if the stupid bitch wasn't so damn desperate to please me it wouldn't have happened…"_

_She fell back into a fitful sleep._

OOO

She woke up breathing heavily, her skin cold and clammy. She could just about make out Combeferre's face hovering over hers in the darkness, his eyes glinting from some of the light from the streetlamps outside.

She groaned and eased up into a sitting position the best she could, her limbs feeling weak and shaky. The room suddenly flooded with yellow light as Combeferre switched on the lamp by her bed.

There was concern etched into every inch of his face, but there was a great deal of hesitance there too. She couldn't blame him. The last time she had woken up from a nightmare like this she had completely freaked out and stormed out of his flat. As it was, she didn't particularly feel like storming out _anywhere _ – her body felt too weak, and her head was spinning; it felt light and heavy at the same time, one second like it was trying to float away from her shoulders and the next like her neck wasn't strong enough to hold it up any longer. Her heart was pounding.

It had been a long time since she had dreamed of _that_ – she tried to pretend _that_ had never happened. She dreamed of her parent's abuse and what came after, but that one incident she was usually very good at forgetting. Now she sat in her bed, Combeferre hovering nearby, and she could feel the skin of her lips splitting beneath _his_ fists, and nails dragging through her skin, and hair, her head being yanked back so hard she thought she might black out.

Suddenly Combeferre's hands were wrapping tightly around hers. "Éponine," he said. His voice sounded far away, but he wasn't far away at all, she had to remind herself, he was right there, and he was holding her hands, and his hands were warm. "Éponine, look at me," he commanded. She let her eyes flicker to his and focused on them, the pale bluish grey. She closed her eyes when his began to darken before her eyes, turning into someone _else's_ eyes, _his_ eyes, going horribly cold and empty.

"No, no, look at me," Combeferre said. "Éponine, please, just look at me." Her eyes flew open. The pale, soothing grey was back. She knew she wasn't breathing properly, her chest rising jerkily, and she squeezed his hands back as tightly as she could.

"You're safe," he murmured, his thumbs stroking the back of her hands. "I've got you. Can you do me a favour, Éponine? I need you to try and breathe _with_ me, okay? See…"

He began to drag air into his lungs in a very pronounced, obvious way. She tried to copy him, but it was so hard, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't…

She squeezed his hands so tight then she could feel his bones pressing together. He just kept on breathing slowly, carefully, and he kept on doing so until she had her breathing under control. She felt her heartbeat begin to slow slightly, and she just continued to try and slow down her breathing.

"Shh," Combeferre murmured, and he leaned forward to press a kiss against her forehead. "You're safe. I've got you."

It was another few minutes before she felt anywhere near normal, and even then her skin felt clammy and her legs were weak. She let herself fall back onto the pillows, and tugged her hands free from Combeferre's to cover her face.

"Thank you," she mumbled from beneath her palms.

"Are you all right?" Combeferre asked, propping himself up on his elbow and brushing his hand down her arm softly.

"I'm…" She shook her head. "No. I'm not okay. But I don't want to talk about it."

"That's fine." He continued to watch her; she could feel his eyes burning into the side of her head. With a sigh, she let her arms drop down to her sides. "Do you want a hug?" he suggested.

She managed a smile and rolled nearer to him. She looped her arms around his neck and pressed her body closely against his, as his hands came to meet folded over her lower back. He peppered tiny kisses to the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. She tangled her fingers in his mop of hair and breathed out another small sigh.

"I really do mean it when I say thank you," she whispered into his chest.

"I know," he said.

A few minutes passed as they lay in the circle of one another's arms. Éponine could feel herself drifting slightly, her body tired and her mind desperately fighting off any more memories. "It was just a bad dream," she told him.

He didn't respond for the longest of times, so she thought he might have fallen asleep. "You don't have to tell me," he said, eventually.

"I'm not telling you what it was of," she protested. "I'm just saying it was a bad dream. Well – more of a nightmare, actually." She swallowed, and wondered how much she should tell him.

He wriggled downwards so that his face was aligned with hers, and then he was dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose. "Éponine," he said, and his voice was somewhat a sigh all by itself. "I don't…I'm sorry for how I've been today and…I don't want you to feel like I'm pressuring you into telling me anything you don't want to just yet. I don't…" He looked like he was struggling to get out what he wanted to say. "What I mean is – I don't – I don't _need_ to know. Which I've said before, and…And I've always been an idiot and let my curiosity get the better of me. Whatever it is, it's _your_ business and…You tell me _if_ you ever decide to tell me – okay? I don't – I don't need to know what you just dreamed about. I'm sorry."

"I will tell you," Éponine murmured, letting her fingertips trail down Combeferre's face. His eyes closed with the light touch. "Just – I need more time, still." In a way, she was relieved he'd just said that – she wasn't sure she wanted to jump straight in at the deep end and relive _that_ incident out loud so short a time after reliving it in her sleep.

"Shall we try and go back to sleep?" he suggested, hands sliding over to her hips.

"Yeah," Éponine sighed, as he reached behind himself to switch off the lamp. There was a small click and then the room went dark again. She'd never been so grateful to close her eyes before. "Good night, Combeferre."

"Sweet dreams, Éponine."

For once, she hoped his wish for her would come true.


	20. Hit and Run

**_Chapter Twenty_**

**Hit and Run**

Éponine was sat in the café when she received the phone call. It was just after lunchtime, and she was just readying herself to get up and order herself some soup for her lunch when her phone began to ring in her pocket.

The name that flashed up on the screen was Juliette Moreau's. She'd phoned them to inform them of her number change the day after she bought her new phone, which was just over a week ago. She hadn't heard from them since then, and she pressed answer assuming it would be a request for another meeting.

"Hello?" she said.

"Oh, Éponine," Juliette sighed in a relieved way down the phone. "I'm really sorry – I meant to phone you yesterday, but I've just been so busy and I'm sorry –"

"Juliette, what's wrong?" Éponine frowned at the note of agitation in Juliette's usually calm voice.

"It's Gavroche," Juliette said. Éponine's entire body tensed and she perched on the edge of the sofa. Cosette, who was sat beside her, placed a hand on her elbow, whilst Jehan, who had been writing in his notebook, looked up and watched her closely. "He was hit by a car yesterday – hit and run," Juliette continued, and Éponine covered her eyes with her free hand. "He's fine – he's out of hospital – he has a very mild concussion, some scrapes and bruises, and he's broken his arm. He's just a bit shaken, really – quiet, not himself. But he's been asking to see you. I meant to phone yesterday, but…"

"Juliette, I don't mind," Éponine said, feeling sick. "I understand why you were distracted and…shit…so, he's fine?"

"Yes, mostly," Juliette said. "He was very lucky – the car wasn't going very fast, we don't think, but…"

"I'm free for the rest of the day," Éponine said. "I can come over as soon as you need me to."

"You can come over now if you like," Juliette said. She quickly told Éponine her address, and Jehan leant her his pen and gave her a scrap of paper from his notebook so she could write it down. They exchanged goodbyes, and Éponine hung up her phone and put it back in her pocket.

"Is everything all right?" Cosette asked in a soft, gentle voice.

"Not really," Éponine said. "Well, it is, but it's not. My brother was involved in a hit and run last night – he's fine, just a concussion and he's broken his arm, but he's apparently very shaken and he wants to see me…I've said I'll go now." She glanced at the clock hanging on the opposite wall. "I hope there's a bus sometime soon," she muttered.

"Forget the bus," Jehan said. "I'll drive you."

"Would you?" Eponine closed her eyes briefly. "I'd really appreciate it."

"It's the least I can do," Jehan said. "Do you want to go now?" He closed his notebook with a short, clean snap.

"If you don't mind."

"I'll wait here," Cosette said. "Marius should be here soon, anyway. I hope he's all right, Éponine."

"Thanks," Éponine replied, giving her a small smile as she left the café with Jehan.

Jehan's car was a mustard yellow, an old car he'd lovingly spent years working on to make it run like new. Apart from a small coughing sound it made sometimes, it was a fairly decent car, and smelled like vanilla thanks to the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. There were wrappers for the bakery down the road screwed up into little balls all over the floor as she got inside, and she had to stop before sitting down so that Jehan could sweep a heap of books off the chair; he saw the names Keats, Brontë and Marlowe amongst the spines before they fell with a thud onto the floor. "Sorry about the mess," Jehan said apologetically as she slammed the door shut. "I really need to clean it out – I just don't have the time, really."

"Do you mind if I smoke?" she said. The car pulled away from the kerb. Jehan waved a hand.

"Not at all," he said. She fished the flattened, crumpled cigarette packet out of her pocket along with her lighter and pulled the lone cigarette that was inside out of the packet.

"I'd offer you one," she said, "But, you know." She waved the cigarette to illustrate what she was trying to say.

She put the cigarette to her lips and lit the cigarette. She fought with the window to try and get it open for about five minutes before Jehan told her the window didn't open, so she gave him the worst look she could manage. He just grinned charmingly in her direction.

"Hey, it was funny to watch," he said, with a small shrug. She rolled her eyes and dropped her used cigarette into the car's slightly overflowing ash tray. She drummed her fingers on her knees. "It'll be all right, Éponine," Jehan said. "You said yourself – your brother's fine. You'll feel better once you've seen him."

"I know," she said. "It's just – I have a bad feeling about it."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, and then carefully said, "Of course you do. Your brother could have died – would it be possible to have a _good_ feeling about it?"

"No, I mean…" She let out a puff of breath. "I mean – I can't explain what I mean."

Jehan nodded. "I know how that feels," he muttered, and then said, "I thought your brother lived further away than this."

"So did I, but it's still a posh neighbourhood," she said. "I should have known, really."

"Have you text Combeferre?" Jehan said, as they turned the corner onto one of the first streets in the aforementioned 'posh neighbourhood'. She could tell the difference from the sizes of the houses and how everything had suddenly become very lush and green and leafy, with huge trees lining the streets and old-fashioned gas lamps dotted amongst them.

"I haven't," she said, wriggling her hand into her pocket to pull out her phone. She fired off a quick text letting him know the situation and telling him she'd probably get a taxi back to hers afterwards (she was secretly hoping that Juliette might be kind enough to offer her a lift).

The Moreau house turned out to be one of the smaller ones in the neighbourhood, possibly newer than the rest, red brick with a wooden porch on the front. There was a large gravel driveway leading up to the house from a large green wooden gate set into a short brick wall that was shared with the neighbouring front gardens. Their garden was also visible, unlike the other houses around it, because there were no trees in it; instead there was an overabundance of flowers of all colours, reds, yellows, oranges, purples and blues, a riot for the eyes. She could see that Jehan had fallen in love with it.

"Thank you so much for this," she said, as the phone in her hand buzzed as Combeferre responded.

"It's no problem," Jehan said. "I hope that your brother is okay – let us know how it gets on. And if you need a lift home or anything, just give me a call. I'll probably be at the Musain for the rest of the day."

"Thanks again," she said, hopping out of the car. She walked up to the gate and fiddled with the latch, swinging it open. The gravel crunched under her feet as she stepped into the garden and shut the gate behind her. She gave Jehan one last wave before walking up to the house.

She glanced down at the phone in her hand, and Combeferre's text stood out bold on the screen. **I hope he's all right. Text me when you want picking up. X **

She smiled to herself. She climbed the set of steps leading to the wooden porch, slipping her phone back into her pocket. The white front door swung open before she could ring the doorbell, and Juliette stood framed in the doorway, looking a little tired but smiling all the same.

"So glad you could make it," she said, ushering Éponine inside a cool hallway painted mint green. A rather fat grey cat snoozed on the second step on the stairs, and a smaller, skinnier cat with stripy orange fur stared at her suspiciously from its perch on a mahogany sideboard.

"You're not allergic to cats, are you?" Juliette asked, as the orange one hopped down to sniff at Éponine's shoes.

"I have no idea," Éponine admitted. She'd never really been around cats for any long period of time, save for the one she'd had when she was little and too young to actually remember it now. She bent down to scratch the cat behind its ears.

"Well, if they bother you just let me know and I'll put them in the kitchen," Juliette said. "We have five of them, you see. And a dog, but my husband's walking Viola at the moment. Do you mind dogs?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm sorry, I'm not overly keen," she said.

"Viola can be a little energetic, so we usually keep her in the kitchen when we have guests. She'd probably be in there anyway, what with Gavroche's arm – we wouldn't want her hurting him by accident."

Juliette led her through a narrow corridor into a wide, open kitchen with gleaming surfaces and spotless white tiles. The French doors at the end of it were stood open, and it was through these doors that Juliette took her, into a large and freezing cold conservatory.

All of its large windows were as wide open as possible. The pale yellow floorboards had mismatching rugs thrown over them, and the wicker chairs and sofas all had different coloured cushions on them. One of the sofas, the largest, was covered in a heap of different blankets and a bright blue duvet.

"Gavroche!" Juliette admonished. "Come out of there. Éponine's here."

Gavroche's head emerged from the blankets, blinking in an irritated manner. His hair was sticking up in every direction. He sat up even further, the blankets falling away. He was wearing a T-shirt, and his arm was in a sling, but she could see the cast poking out from under it. There was a scrape under his right eye, bright red against his pale skin.

"I'm bored," he whined. "And I'm cold."

"So I'll shut the windows," Juliette said. "You had me open them because you were too warm, but I'm not surprised, what with all the blankets you've got."

He pouted.

"He's feeling sorry for himself," Juliette explained, hurrying around the conservatory and shutting all the windows. Éponine lowered herself into the slightly uncomfortable wicker chair next to Gavroche's sofa. Two more cats, both tabby but one with a white belly, came creeping out from under Gavroche's sofa to inspect her feet. "Everything hurts, so I'm making him keep it easy."

"Couldn't you watch a film?" Éponine suggested.

"I was doing on my laptop but then the battery died and there are no plugs in here," Gavroche explained with a heavy sigh. "And I can't be bothered moving."

"Ah, so your laziness is the real reason you're bored," Éponine said, as one of the cats – the one with the white belly – leaped onto her knee and began to dig her claws into Éponine's thigh.

"No," Gavroche muttered petulantly.

"Yes," Juliette laughed. "Would you like something to drink, Éponine? A cup of tea, maybe?"

"A cup of tea would be great, thank you," Éponine said, and Juliette left the conservatory, shutting the doors behind her.

"So, how are you?" Éponine said, leaning back in her seat. She winced as the cat moved one of its paws to rest on her stomach and flexed its claws.

"You know, if she's being annoying just shove her off your knee," Gavroche suggested. "And I feel like shit."

"Language," Éponine scolded, although her heart wasn't really in it.

"Well, I do," Gavroche said with a roll of his eyes. "I got hit by a car."

"Yeah, what actually happened?" Éponine tentatively stroked the cat's back and was rewarded with a lick on the back of her hand.

A shadow passed over Gavroche's face, and he glanced towards the door nervously. Éponine raised her chin and narrowed her eyes. "Gavroche," she prompted. "What is it? Tell me."

"I – I think – I know who the driver was," he said.

"What? Gavroche, have you told people?" Éponine hissed, leaning forward so quickly that the cat fell off her knee with an indignant yowl.

"No." Gavroche shook his head. "Because – I, uh, I don't _actually_ know who he was."

Éponine frowned. "How – that doesn't even make sense, Gavroche. You need to tell someone –"

"It was that guy," Gavroche cut her off. "That one – that time, when we were waiting for my mother to come and pick us up – the big man, the one you told me to call the police if I saw him."

Éponine felt like she'd swallowed a ball of lead. She closed her eyes. "Are you sure it was him?"

"Pretty sure." Gavroche pulled a face. "Like, the car was moving really slowly, which was why I crossed the road in front of it – and it sped up, but not a lot, you know? I rolled up the front of it – and I saw him. I know it was him. I'm good with faces. I'm sure it was him."

Éponine held her face in her hands. "Shit."

"I don't think he was trying to kill me," Gavroche added.

"What difference does it make? He was trying to hurt you," Éponine said, tipping her head back. "Fuck, Gavroche."

"You don't know he did it to me because it was me," Gavroche objected.

"Of course he did," Éponine said. "He's – _they_, they have seen me with you. This was aimed at me, I'm sure of it, the fuckers." She knotted her fingers together. "I'm going to kill them."

"Who was he?" Gavroche used his good hand to pull on his blankets to free his legs.

"He's just – someone I used to know," she said. "You should still tell the police."

"You don't want the police involved, though." Gavroche shrugged the shoulder of his working arm. "And don't tell me you do, because I know that you'd be lying."

"I don't – I don't exactly _trust_ the police," Éponine muttered. "That doesn't mean…hell, Gavroche, these men – the man that did this – he's as slick as grease. I can tell you now, the car he used will probably be found in the next town, burnt out, and there'll be no way to trace it to him."

Gavroche bit his lip. "So what are you saying? _Don't_ tell the police? This is definitely mixed messages, Éponine."

"I'm saying, just..." Éponine placed her hands together in a steeple. "Give me a bit, yeah?" Her mind was working fast. If she could just talk to someone, maybe… "I have an idea, of sorts. I think there's something I can do."

"You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?" Gavroche frowned.

"Stupid?" Éponine echoed. "Well. It might be, yeah. I don't think it's the cleverest thing I've ever done in my life, and it's…" The plan was forming faster in her mind. "It's not a good thing."

"What is it?" Gavroche leaned forward. "Éponine, if this is…"

"It's not a good thing," she said, cutting him off. "It is not a good thing."

"What do you mean _good_?" Gavroche said. "As in…not morally good?"

"As in morally terrible," Éponine said. "But you're my little brother. Anyone who hurts my little brother is going to pay in some way."

Then Juliette bustled in carrying a tray of mugs and a teapot, and Éponine abruptly changed the conversation to Gavroche's schoolwork.

OOO

When she left the Moreau house, she didn't call for a taxi, and she didn't call for Combeferre or Jehan or anyone else to come and pick her up. She walked back to the Café Musain, taking out her frustration and anger on the pavement. The more she walked, the firmer her plan became in her head. It became more detailed – words she could use flashed up in neon colours alongside buttons she knew how to push.

As she had said to Gavroche, her plan was not _good_ in any way shape or form. It was not the plan of a _good_ person. But, hell, she was a Thenardier at heart, and she'd never pretended to _be_ a good person. If her parents DNA was going to rear its ugly head in her again, she'd rather it was in a situation like this.

That thought in mind, her hands clenched into fists as she stomped along. She would have to act fast, she realised, and she couldn't go _there_ alone. She needed someone to come with her, but there was the small fact that her plan wasn't _good_ and she happened to be friends with a lot of _good_ people. Combeferre would probably hate it, and so would Jehan, and Courfeyrac would probably object wildly. She could picture Feuilly, Bossuet and Cosette being disappointed if they knew, and Musichetta and Joly would definitely try and talk her out of it. Enjolras was a funny one, but in general, she didn't think he'd particularly _like_ the plan.

The only ones who might be able to see her side of things, she decided, were Bahorel and Grantaire, so she was immensely grateful when she stormed into the Café Musain to find Bahorel sat on the sofas. He was laughing raucously about something with Feuilly, Courfeyrac and Bossuet. She scanned the café and she couldn't see Grantaire anywhere, but Enjolras and Combeferre were at the counter ordering.

Combeferre flashed her an easy smile when he saw her and turned around to make his order. There was a twinge in her stomach.

She strode over to the sofas. She saw a bright purple hoodie she recognised as Bahorel's draped over the arm of the sofa and she scooped it up and chucked it at him. The ball of fabric hit him in the centre of his chest and he stopped laughing abruptly, looking confused.

"Bahorel, I need your help," she said. "Come on." She turned around, jerking her head towards the doors.

The large man got to his feet, holding the hoodie out and staring at it like it was an object from an alien planet. "What?"

"Come _on_," she said. "You brought your car, right?"

"Yeah," he said, shrugging on the hoodie. "What's going on?"

"I'll explain in the car," she said. He stopped to zip up his hoodie and she rolled her eyes, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. "Come _on_, Bahorel. There's someone I need to speak to."


	21. A Thenardier at Heart

**Warnings: Mentions of violence, child abuse and domestic violence**

**_Chapter Twenty-One_**

**A Thenardier at Heart**

"I need you to be muscle," she said, as they sped along the streets to her father's night club. "Just in case things get out of hand. But please, let me do the talking."

Bahorel had stayed silent throughout her explanation of what she was planning, and she watched his face as he soaked it all in. A couple of minutes passed before he spoke. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"No," she admitted, "But do you have a better one?"

"The police, maybe?" Bahorel suggested.

"Nah, they'll never be able to get him," Éponine said. "They're too clever for that."

"If you're sure," Bahorel said, slowly. "Then…I don't know, Éponine."

"Look, I know this isn't a good thing," Éponine said. "Like, it makes me a pretty shitty person."

"No, it doesn't," Bahorel said. "I don't think you shouldn't do it because I think it's a shit thing to do. It's the opposite. If Gavroche was my little brother, I'd kick the shit out of him myself. I'm more worried about what might happen to _you_ as a consequence."

"I can handle it," Éponine said. "I've taken all that lot can throw at me, multiple times."

"If you're sure," Bahorel repeated.

They pulled up outside her father's nightclub. After his initial businesses had failed completely, and the downward spiral that came with it, he'd managed to get back on his feet and open one small, seedy, shitty club downtown. It was rough, way rougher than the Musain. She knew that Bahorel had been here a couple of times, and Grantaire more than that, and that Jehan had once explored it buying some drugs, but aside from that, it was mostly unexplored by the rest of her friends.

It was daytime, but she knew that some people would be in there. Her father would definitely be there, and the rest…She just hoped that the right ones were there, and not the ones that hated her guts.

She went in first, Bahorel shadowing her as they slipped through the black front doors. They were in a long, narrow corridor, the walls plastered with posters and grime, and the smell of cigarettes and alcohol hung heavy in the air, combined with the odour of too many cheap perfumes and sweat.

She could hear muffled talking from the main club itself, and shoved through the doors.

It was her lucky day. Brujon and Babet were sat at the bar, smoking cigarettes and drinking whiskey.

"Montparnasse, is that you?" Brujon said, turning his head. His face went very still when he saw it was her.

"Princess," Babet said, his tone surprised. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Is my father in his office?" she demanded.

"Yeah, but he's busy, darlin'," Brujon said.

"He's not too busy to see me and _don't_ call me darling," Éponine spat at the two men, striding past them and walking around the bar. Bahorel followed her closely, shooting Brujon and Babet looks that could kill.

The door to her father's office was behind the bar. She didn't knock; she just went in, holding the door open so that Bahorel could follow her.

Her father didn't look up from his desk. He was rifling through some papers, scribbling on them with a pen. He looked more tired than when she'd last seen him; there was more grey in his hair, and large bruise-like marks beneath his dark, mean little eyes.

"What is it, Éponine?" he drawled.

She faltered for a few moments. "You knew it was me?"

"Yes, I heard you shrieking outside." He raised his eyes for a moment to meet her gaze. "I'm not deaf."

"I had wondered," she said. "I need a word."

"Obviously, otherwise you wouldn't be here," he said, flicking through the papers. "Who is your friend?"

"None of your business," Éponine said.

"That's a kind thing to say to your father, girl," he sighed. "I hope you have better luck with her than my friend Montparnasse did, boy. If she gets too mouthy, we learned a good smack does _wonders_ for keeping her tongue in check."

Beside her, Bahorel's body tensed. She stepped forwards. "He's not my boyfriend, you piece of shit," she spat, bracing her hands on the desk. "And I'm not here to talk about _him_, or talk about _me_. I'm here to talk about Gueulemer."

"What about him?" Her father eased back in his seat, putting down his pen and clasping his hands over his stomach. "What's he got to do with you?"

"He ran over my brother – your _son_," Éponine informed him. "Yesterday. Hit and run. Don't panic _too_ much, Gavroche is alive."

"Pity," her father drawled, and she itched to throttle him. "So what do you want me to do about it?"

"I want you to tell Gueulemer and his – that _friend_ of his to back the fuck off," Éponine said. "I know you're not much of a father but please, for once, can you just try? I don't give a shit what they do to me, but tell them to keep Gavroche out of this. I know that Gueulemer will listen to you, at least."

Her father's face was impassive. "Is that all?"

"Pretty much." She straightened up. "With _you_, anyway."

"Well, if that _is_ all, please get out of my office," he said. "I'll think about your request. I'll be more inclined to agree with you if you keep it down outside. I'm rather busy."

In one petulant move, she swiped all of his papers off the desk before she stalked out of his office.

Outside in the main bar, there was a new addition. Montparnasse. It had been a while since she'd seen him, too, but he looked better for it. He was just as pretty as all ways, his clothes just as immaculate, his gaze just as cold.

"Éponine, baby," he said. "What brings you here?"

"I need you three to do something for me," she said, ignoring him and desperately wanting to break his nose for the use of that endearment. "I'm aiming this more at you two," she added, to Brujon and Babet.

"And what do you_ need_, princess?" Babet said, tipping whiskey into his mouth and flicking ash from his cigarette onto the bar top.

"Yesterday Gueulemer ran over my younger brother," Éponine said. "He could have died. I have a good idea why Gueulemer did it, and I also know that the police won't be able to make it stick."

"And what's that got to do with us?" Brujon said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about your brother, but it's hardly our business," Babet said.

"I'm calling in a favour," Éponine said.

"I wasn't aware we owed you any favours," Brujon said.

"See, I think you owe me a favour for every time you two stood buy and watched whilst someone hurt me," Éponine said, leaning against the bar top. She made sure that her words were cold, and she focused them at Babet in particular, because she knew he couldn't stand the idea of women being hurt.

Amazingly, it worked. "So what are you after?" Babet said, slowly.

"I think it's pretty obvious," Montparnasse muttered, rolling his eyes and sweeping a hand through his shiny black hair.

"I want you to _hurt _Gueulemer," she said, making sure that each word was pronounced very carefully. "I want you to make him sorry he so much as _looked_ at my little brother. And I specifically want you to make sure that one of his arms is broken."

Silence met her words, and then Babet spoke. "That's not really a small favour."

"I never said it was a small favour," she said. "I don't know _where_ you got that from."

"We'll do it," Montparnasse said, quietly.

Her eyes flickered to him. He was staring at the bar top, but then he looked up, met her gaze. "We'll do it," he repeated. "Won't we, guys?"

Brujon and Babet exchanged glances. "Well…" Brujon said.

"No buts," Montparnasse said, sharply. "We're going to do it."

She stared at him, and gave a small nod. "Thank you."

"I'll let you know when it's done," Montparnasse said. He glanced behind her, to Bahorel's looming form. "Who's the boy?"

She didn't need to look over her shoulder to know that Bahorel would be bristling at being called a 'boy' by someone who was roughly his own age or younger. "I'm her friend," Bahorel said.

"_Just_ a friend?" Montparnasse's eyebrows raised in some semblance of amusement. "I didn't realise you _had_ friends that were men, you usually just fu-"

"Now listen here –" Bahorel exploded, stepping past her so quickly that he barged into her with his shoulder. She reached out and grabbed his arm, putting her body in between him and Montparnasse. She knew, she _knew_ that Bahorel could easily take Montparnasse in a fight – if Montparnasse didn't have his friends by his side, and if Montparnasse didn't have a penchant for fighting dirty and keeping knives stashed in unimaginable places. Bearing that in mind, she knew that Bahorel couldn't swing for him now.

"Leave it," she hissed. "Come on, let's go."

"You should keep the boy on a leash, baby," Montparnasse said. "Seeing as he's so fast with his fists why don't you get _him_ to do your dirty work?"

Éponine threw him the dirtiest look that had ever graced her face. "You know why," she said.

Something flickered over Montparnasse's features. "Ah. Because he's a_ good_ boy, I assume?"

"Come on," she muttered to Bahorel, shoving him past the three men towards the exit. "Let's get out of here."

Montparnasse caught her wrist as she made to move after him. She went to wrench her arm out of his grip, but he held on fast. "Keep safe," he hissed, in a low voice. "I know what he's up to, and it's not _good_, baby. I can do what I can to get Gueulemer out of the picture but you know I can't –"

"I don't need you to deal with him," Éponine said, her voice just as low.

His eyes searched her face. "Keep safe," he said, again, and then let her go.

She turned to see Bahorel looking like he was one second away from launching himself onto Montparnasse. She placed her hand on Bahorel's stomach and pushed him backwards.

"I'll let you know," Montparnasse called as they slipped through the door and back into the narrow, cramped corridor outside.

"Watch where your going," a female voice snapped, a skinny slip of a woman shoving at Bahorel. They hadn't seen her coming, what with Éponine physically pushing Bahorel out of the room.

"Sorry," Bahorel muttered, but Éponine didn't see the point in being polite.

"_You _watch where you're going," she shot back, glaring at the young girl. Her anger dimmed somewhat when she saw her sister's face staring back at her. But there was no less irritation in Azelma's face when their eyes met – if anything, there was even more aggression in her face.

"Let's go," Éponine said to Bahorel, for what felt like the millionth time, as her sister pushed her out of the way to step into the bar.

OOO

The silence in the car was tense and heavy and wired. Éponine fidgeted with the sleeves of her jacket, not sure what to say to Bahorel. There were still waves of anger emanating off him, and she didn't know how he would respond to her.

Eventually, one of them spoke, and was actually him who opened his mouth first. "Is he always like that?" he said.

"Which one?"

"Well, all of them," Bahorel said.

"Usually," Éponine replied with a shrug.

"And you actually…_dated_ that guy?" Bahorel sounded disgusted. "He was a prick."

"Yeah, he is," Éponine agreed. "And a confusing one. Treats me like shit one minute, nice to me the next. We weren't healthy for each other."

"I'm seeing that," Bahorel remarked. "Fucking hell, Éponine, I knew things had been…_bad_, but…"

"I don't really like to talk about it," she said. "I consider them to be in my past and I don't plan on having anything to do with them once they've…you know – done what I asked."

"I just hope you do actually know what you're doing," he said. "There's so many ways this could blow up. You know that, right?"

"Of course I know that," Éponine sighed. "I know that, and I'm not…fuck, Bahorel, I don't _know_. But…"

"Look, I don't give a shit about what you've actually got them to do," Bahorel said. "I really don't. I just – I don't want it backfiring on you. You're my mate, Éponine, and I don't like my mates getting hurt, because then I have to go and beat the shit out of someone, and _I_ might get landed in prison. Do you see the issue here?"

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. "Thanks, Bahorel," she murmured, not sure what she was thanking him_ for_ exactly but knowing he needed to be thanked.

He shrugged.

A couple of minutes later, they pulled up in the car park behind the Musain, and Bahorel switched off the engine. He moved to get out of the car, but she reached out and placed a hand on his elbow.

He glanced back at her. "Yeah?"

"I'd appreciate if you didn't tell Combeferre," she said. "I – I don't know how he'd react and – and there are things about me he doesn't know about and I don't want him knowing _just_ yet..."

"And you wouldn't want him to hear them from me, I get it," he said. "Don't worry, Éponine, your secret is safe with me."

She managed to give him a small smile before getting out of the car.

OOO

Upon entering the café it was obvious that every single one of their friends was now squeezed onto the sofas and, unfortunately, they all seemed to have been waiting for Bahorel and Éponine to come back. Her phone had buzzed a few times since they'd left the café but she'd ignored all of their attempts at contact. Clearly, her taking Bahorel from the café had gotten everyone's attention.

They all turned to look at them as they walked in. Her eyes sought Combeferre. His face was blank, and she wondered if they were going to argue again.

But then the seriousness eased out and he smiled at her.

"They've returned!" Courfeyrac boomed. "What was so urgent, Éponine, that you had to kidnap our dear friend here?"

"Oh, you know, this and that," she said, as Bahorel forced himself between Jehan and Joly on the sofa. She didn't bother looking for an empty seat and instead sank onto Combeferre's knee. His arms immediately wrapped around her waist, her fingers linking together over her hipbone. "Gavroche's mother needed to move – Gavroche's room needed rearranging – he, uh, hurt his leg and can't walk up the stairs and…" She looked to Bahorel for help.

"His dad has a bad back?" he said, and it came out as more as a suggestion. She knew it was a terrible lie but she put on her toughest face and stared around at her friends, daring them to challenge their story.

No one did. There were a few disbelieving looks but then Courfeyrac proposed trying a new club that had opened on the other side of town and no one cared anymore. Éponine relaxed into Combeferre, tucking her face into his neck. She hadn't realised she wanted the comfort of Combeferre until she'd actually sat on his lap, but now he was holding her she could feel some of the tension she'd been carrying since she had left the Moreau house leaving her bones.

"You all right?" Combeferre murmured in her ear.

"I'm better now," she said back to him, her voice just as soft.

"How is Gavroche?" he asked.

"Fine," she said. "A bit grumpy, but he's bored."

"Well, it must be crap, what with not being able to walk and all," Combeferre said in a dry voice. "Although I don't remember Cosette or Jehan sharing _that_ little detail before. I thought he broke his arm?"

"A person can break an arm and a leg at the same time," she said.

"Oh, I know," he said. "I'm a medical student, remember? But he didn't break his leg, did he?"

"I'm not going to argue with you," she said, firmly.

"I'm not going to argue with you either," he said. He let go of her, and patted her on the thigh. "I think I'm going to go back to my flat now, if you don't mind."

He gently, but very firmly, moved her off his knee as he slid out from under her. Before she could say anything else, he had donned his coat and walked out of the café.

OOO

Combeferre went home and threw himself into rereading his textbooks and editing his notes rather than try and focus on the green haze that had descended in the café and refused to budge.

He hadn't known what to think when he'd seen Éponine drag Bahorel out of the café earlier in the day, but he'd assumed it was serious, and probably an emergency. He'd text her a couple of times, but had no response, so he had given up. He'd actually been relieved when she returned to the café – but he hadn't anticipated on the sudden punch of jealousy that had occurred when he had seen how closely Bahorel was hovering to Éponine.

Then there was the barefaced lie about where they had vanished to, and the way Bahorel kept on _looking_ at her, something unreadable on his face, like he knew something…

Combeferre threw his pen down and raked his hand through his hair. This was stupid, he told himself. Bahorel was one of his friends, one of his closest friends, and he knew Bahorel wasn't interested in Éponine. Hell, he'd encouraged Combeferre to go for it, and judging by the way he reacted the time they'd overheard Éponine and him having sex, he didn't see Éponine in a sexual light at all. He knew that, deep down, but Christ, if he didn't hate the idea that Bahorel knew something he didn't, and what if there _was_ something more to Bahorel and Éponine?

A nasty little voice at the back of his head whispered, _it wouldn't be any of your business if it was. You're just casual, remember_?

He was on the verge of sweeping his notes and books off his desk when there was a knock on his door.

He sighed, pushing himself out of his chair and going through to the living room. He answered the door and was not at all surprised to see Éponine stood there, scowling, with flushed cheeks and a heaving chest that suggested she might have run all the way here.

"What the hell, Combeferre?" she demanded, shoving her way into the flat and planting her hands on her hips.

"I had work to do," he muttered, shutting the door behind her.

"Bullshit," she snorted.

"Well, maybe I just wanted to be alone for a bit," he said, raising his voice. He lowered it again to mumble his next jibe. "You would have had Bahorel for company, anyway, so it's fine."

Éponine gaped at him for a few moments, and then she burst out laughing. "Seriously?" she said. "Are you _jealous_, Combeferre?"

He didn't respond. He couldn't look at her. He knew he was blushing and he hated himself for it.

"Oh, Combeferre." Her hands rested on his hips as she stepped into his personal space, tilting her head up towards him. "What we were doing falls under the category of things I'm not ready to tell you, but I promise, I _promise_ we were not kissing or fucking or _anything_. Bahorel doesn't – he doesn't appeal to me like that. God, you're daft sometimes," she tacked on the end, reaching up to ruffle his hair affectionately.

"I know you weren't," he said.

"Then what's the problem?" She kept her hand in his hair, winding the sandy strands around her fingers. He didn't fight her when she began to walk him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the sofa and they both tumbled down, her sprawled over him.

"I'm an idiot," he said, hiding his face in her hair.

"Yeah, you are," she agreed, butting him slightly in the shoulder with her forehead in a way that reminded him of Joly's old pet cat. "You're _my_ idiot, though, so it's fine," she leaned her head up to whisper in his ear, and that was when he knew for certain that using '_casual_' to describe their relationship had long flown out of the window.


	22. Dirty Work

**Warning: Mentions of violence and some derogatory language.**

**_Chapter Twenty Two_**

**Dirty Work**

One of the strangest sights Éponine had ever seen was Montparnasse stood in the Café Musain. Even stranger still was the fact that most of her friends, bar Joly and Combeferre (who were at a class), were sat on the sofas.

She slowed down considerably when she spotted him, leaning against the counter chatting to the waitress. She was clearly enjoying his attention, but she knew him well enough to know that, despite his flirting, he was only talking to her at all because he was bored.

Bahorel was sat scowling at him and ignoring everything else. She rolled her eyes. Before she could move any further, Montparnasse glanced over his shoulder in her direction, and when he saw her, a slow, easy smile spread out across his pale, handsome face.

"Éponine!" he called, and all of her friends in the corner turned around. She could tell that some were wondering who else was shouting for Éponine and then realising that Éponine wasn't even sat with them. She waggled her fingers in their direction, took a deep breath, and walked over to Montparnasse.

Behind him, the young waitress was looking put out that he had turned his attentions elsewhere. Éponine felt like telling her that she needn't worry; as obviously physically attractive Montparnasse was, with that sharp jaw line and prominent cheekbones, and the shiny black hair and flashing silver eyes, Eponine had no interest in him. Not anymore.

And certainly not in those trousers, she thought to herself, eyeing up his purple skinny jeans. They were certainly a new fashion choice, she mused. She wondered whether Courfeyrac might have the same pair at home.

"Hello," she said. "I didn't realise you knew this place existed. How did you find me?"

"Oh, you know," Montparnasse said, vaguely. "I know my way about."

"Hm." Éponine leaned her elbows onto the countertop.

"She'll have a large hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows," Montparnasse said to the waitress. He added to Éponine, "It's on me."

"You remember my favourite hot drink? I'm impressed," she said, even though she wasn't really.

"Our relationship may not have been perfect, baby, but I do remember some things," he said, with a shrug. "Like that thing you do with your –"

She held up her hand. "If you're going to start with that, I'm going to end this conversation here and walk away, and you can shove the hot chocolate up your ass without lube."

"That doesn't really appeal to me," he said.

"Would it appeal to anyone?" she mused. She could feel the eyes of her friends burning into her, but she didn't dare turn around and look at them.

"Your puppy from yesterday looks ready to attack me," Montparnasse said. "Maybe you should call him off."

"What are you here for, Montparnasse?" Éponine said with a small sigh.

"I told you I would be in touch when we'd done what you asked," Montparnasse said. "And we've done what you asked. So here I am."

"That was quick."

"Well, Gueulemer's had it coming for a while. We didn't see the point in hanging about." Montparnasse shrugged. "Want to see photographic evidence?"

"You took _pictures_?" she said, incredulous, as he slipped his hand into the pocket of the pale grey blazer he was wearing and pulled out a sleek black phone. He swiped his thumb across it and put in the password, and a moment later, he slid the phone across the counter towards her. At the same time, the waitress put down her hot chocolate with a clink of china on wood.

The picture was enough to put Éponine off her hot chocolate. She could just about tell it was Gueulemer, but they'd really made a mess out of him. She wrinkled her nose. "Is he fucking _alive_?" she demanded.

"Of course," Montparnasse said, grinning at her. "Babe, if you'd wanted him dead, you only had to ask."

"I didn't," she said, quietly, her stomach turning. She pushed the phone towards him.

"Shame," Montparnasse murmured, and when she looked into those pale silver eyes, she knew he meant it.

She cleared her throat. "Thank you," she said.

"Oh, anything for an old..." His eyes raked up and down her body. "Friend?" he finished.

"I don't want to see you again," she said.

"And that is another shame, but I can't say I'm surprised." Montparnasse studied her for a few seconds, before reaching out to pick up his phone and slip it back into his pocket. "Sometimes, Éponine, I miss you," he said. "Not often, but occasionally, I wish you were around."

She raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. "Can you guess what I'm thinking?"

"That the feeling isn't mutual?" He gave an odd sort of half-smile. "I'm well aware. It's just, you know, Azelma…She's not the _same_."

Éponine rolled her eyes. "I think you're overstaying your welcome if you're just going to bait me," she said, sharply.

"You have a point." He fished in his pocket and pulled out a few coins, dropping them onto the counter. "Well, this is goodbye, I think, unless our paths do cross again at some point, which we can't rule out completely."

She bowed her head. "Bye. And…thanks for the hot chocolate, I guess," she said.

"I didn't really pay for it," he said. "We figured that Gueulemer didn't need his wallet last night, and that was just the change I had left over."

She glanced at the hot chocolate. It looked even less appealing now.

"Also, Éponine…" Montparnasse leaned in closer. "As I said yesterday, _be careful_. I may have temporarily put his lapdog out of action but _he_ is still very much around. And unlike Gueulemer, he's not someone you can take a baseball bat to."

"Well, you _could_," Éponine said, wrinkling her nose. "He's not invincible."

"I can't remember the last time I saw him in person and it was genuinely him and not one of his lackeys," Montparnasse said. "You can't kill a shadow, baby. God knows, I have tried."

Before anything more could be said, he had ducked his head down and pressed his mouth against Éponine's cheek. Then he stepped back.

She looked up at him. Once upon a time, he had been the man of her dreams, somehow. But now he was as unappealing to her as the rapidly cooling cup of hot chocolate inches away from her hand. Her mind flickered to Combeferre, with his softer facial features and warmer eyes and lighter, sandy hair. He'd never wear purple trousers, she thought to herself, and a small smile played on her lips.

Montparnasse pushed off the counter. "Good luck, baby," he said.

"Goodbye, Montparnasse," she said, and she watched him walk out of the café.

Once the door had shut behind him, she turned around and picked up the mug. She wrinkled her nose as she carried it over to the sofas.

"Who was that?" Cosette was the first to ask.

"I think he was a friend," Courfeyrac said, with suspicious eyes to match his suspicious tone. "He _looked_ like a friend."

"Actually, he's my ex," Éponine said, putting the mug down on the coffee table and squeezing in next to Jehan on one of the sofas.

Cosette's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. She glanced towards Marius, who sat next to her, and she reached out to clap her hands over his ears. "He's _gorgeous_," she hissed.

"He's a dickhead," Bahorel muttered.

"What Bahorel said," Éponine said, with a shrug.

"Would it be really bad of me to run after him and break his nose?" Bahorel said, leaning towards her with an eager expression on his face.

Cosette swatted at the large man. "You will _not_ damage that face!" she said fiercely.

Bahorel scowled at her.

"I'm with Cosette on that," Éponine said, "But not necessarily because of his face. He's actually just done me a huge favour," she added, widening her eyes at Bahorel and hoping he understood what she meant.

Luckily, he seemed to get the message because he began to nod very rapidly.

Everyone else was still staring at her. Except for Enjolras, whose gaze was firmly focused on the laptop in front of him.

"What kind of favour?" Courfeyrac asked.

"The private kind that's none of your business," Éponine said. "Look, my ex is a dick and I won't be seeing him again if I can help it. It was just…a conversation we needed to have."

Grantaire cleared his throat. "Éponine's right, it's none of our business," he said. "Are you all right, though, Éponine?"

She tried smiling at him, but the image of Gueulemer's beaten and mangled body kept on forcing itself to the forefront of her brain. She swallowed. "Yeah," she said. "I'm fine," she added, knowing that Gueulemer would probably be in her nightmares tonight.

OOO

Three days later was Joly's birthday. It had been decided they would throw a surprise party, and host it at Musichetta's house because it was the biggest place they had at hand.

Musichetta and Bossuet were keeping the birthday boy occupied for the day whilst the rest of them sorted everything out. Éponine had been given a spare key to let herself in that morning when she'd gone there with Combeferre, and then Grantaire had come over to help her finish putting up the decorations whilst Combeferre left to sort out other things with the rest of their friends.

They'd settled on a Wild West theme, because Joly liked old Western films. Jehan and Courfeyrac were out looking for a costume to rent for Joly (under strict instructions to make sure that the shop looked hygienic considering Joly's issues with anything unclean), whilst Bahorel and Feuilly were on alcohol duty. Cosette and Enjolras were working together on the food at Cosette's apartment, and Marius was…Well, he was doing _something_ at Cosette's apartment but nobody really knew what.

Combeferre had gone to help with the preparation of food, leaving Grantaire blowing up some inflatable cacti and Éponine sticking themed stickers to the walls. She'd just got a chair to stand on so she could begin hanging a large plastic sheet styled as a 'Wanted' poster with Joly's photograph on it when her mobile phone began to ring.

It was on the arm of the sofa, next to Grantaire, who was getting bored of blowing up cacti and beginning to loll on the sofas.

"Could you get that for me?" she said over her shoulder, rolling blu-tac between her fingers. "It's probably just Combeferre."

"Sure," Grantaire replied, and she heard the soft sound of one of the cacti hitting the carpet. "Hello, Éponine's phone," he said a minute later.

Éponine glanced over her shoulder when Grantaire went very quiet. His brow was furrowed and his mouth hung open a little bit. He glanced at her, his eyes questioning. A second later, he demanded in a harsh, angry voice, "Who the _fuck_ is this? Because you're not talking to Éponine right now –"

Éponine let go of the plastic sheet, not caring that it fell down to the floor. She jumped off the chair, her stomach dropping as she realised who was probably on the other end of the phone.

"Listen here, you piece of shit, do not –" Grantaire began to snarl, and Éponine darted forward, snatching her phone out of his hands and putting it up to her ear.

"Who is this?" she said, even though she knew who it was.

"You _slut_," that voice said. It felt like a bucket of ice cold water had just been dumped over her head. "You fucking think you can start screwing other men? You're nothing more than a whore, Éponine, remember that. I've heard _all_ about what you've been up to – that little stunt you pulled with Gueulemer – but I've also heard all about that man you've apparently been fucking. I don't give a shit who he is, he's not going to stop me, slut, so –"

"Shut the fuck up," Éponine spat. "You should never have even _looked_ at my brother. What does he have to do with this?"

"Oh, after what you've done, your brother's in even more danger," the voice said. "I don't give a _fuck_ what your father says, or those bastards you've got doing your dirty work for you."

"I don't know what you _want_ from me," Éponine said, closing her eyes. She could feel a presence behind her and she knew that Grantaire was standing close.

"You know very well what I want," the voice said. "Warn the boy you're fucking that I'm watching."

He hung up, and his words echoed in her head. Who did he mean? Obviously, she was only sleeping with one man and that was Combeferre, but Montparnasse and company were under the impression Bahorel was her boyfriend, not Combeferre. And it was Grantaire who had answered the phone.

She turned slowly. Grantaire was stood behind her, arms folded, muscles in his arms bulging. His face was guarded.

"What," he said, "Was that?"

"That was…" She struggled for the right words. "That was an old…"

"Friend?" Grantaire suggested. "Because he didn't sound so friendly. He threatened to cut my dick off, actually, because he interpreted a man answering your phone as someone fucking you. Now, it definitely wasn't Combeferre, so –"

"He's not an old friend, he – he kind of works with my father," Éponine said, staring down at her phone. "He – he's the one who – he had someone else run over my brother."

She looked up at him. Grantaire's mouth hung open a little bit.

He cleared his throat. "How long has he been calling you?" he asked.

"A while, but not…not often." She squirmed under Grantaire's scrutiny. "I thought – I thought when I got a new phone, it would stop, but…somehow, he's got my number again. I don't know how."

Grantaire pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seriously? He's been calling you for a while and you didn't think to _tell anyone_?"

"I can deal with it," Éponine said quietly.

"Can you? Because you're _scared_, Éponine, I can tell, and you –"

"I'm dealing with it," she said, more firmly. "Yes, I am scared, because I _know_ what this guy is capable of, but I am dealing with it."

"You need to tell someone," he said, ignoring her. "The police, maybe? They can help. Fuck, at the very _least_ you should tell Combeferre."

"Oh, it always comes back to telling Combeferre," she muttered.

"Well maybe you should!" Grantaire all but shouted. To her horror, as he raised his voice she heard the front door slam and loud, cheery voices echo through the house as their friends returned. All sounds of frivolity obviously disappeared at the sound of Grantaire's shouting. "Fucking _hell_, Éponine, I'm all for privacy when it comes to your fucking past but that guy threatened to castrate me and cut you open, this is _not_ something you can deal with by yourself!"

All of a sudden, Combeferre was framed in the doorway, frowning, a foil-covered tray in his hands. Enjolras stood behind him, face blank. Both of them stepped into the room in silence, closely followed by Jehan and Courfeyrac carrying garment bags over their arms, and Cosette holding a Tupperware box of what looked like biscuits.

There was silence, and Grantaire turned to face them all.

"What's going on?" Combeferre said in a sharp voice.

Éponine took a deep breath to answer, but Grantaire spoke faster, as always. "Some guy has been threatening Éponine through phone calls for months and I'm pretty certain her life is in danger," he said.

"Grantaire," Éponine hissed.

"No, Éponine." He twisted to look at her. "Éponine, I love you. You're one of my best friends. I absolutely believe that you have every right to keep your past private but this _isn't your past_. That man, whoever he was, _tried to kill your brother_. He threatened to _kill you_."

"It's not – it's not like that," Éponine said.

"It's exactly like that," Grantaire said, shaking his head. "I know what I heard him say."

"It's more complicated than that," Éponine said. "And I told you, I can deal with it!"

Enjolras cleared his throat. "Cosette, we should put all the food in the kitchen," he said. "Courf, Jehan, you…you take the costumes up to Musichetta's room."

No one moved for a few seconds, but then Cosette stepped forwards. "Get on with it, you two," she said, nodding at Jehan and Courfeyrac. The two men exchanged glances before disappearing into the hallway outside. Enjolras carefully took the foil-covered tray out of Combeferre's hands and followed Cosette through to the kitchen.

Combeferre ran a hand through his hair. "Right," he said. "Start from the beginning."

"Éponine got a phone call from some man and I answered it for her," Grantaire said. "As soon as he realised I was a man he started screaming how he was going to cut my dick off and kill her and how I'd regret the day I started fucking her. Then she took the phone off me and I don't know what was said then, but it wasn't good because she went as white as a sheet and has pretty much stayed that way."

"He's just – he's just a –" Éponine struggled to find the right word. "Okay, so he _is_ dangerous, I know that, but I didn't want to worry anyone."

"Well, you've done a terrible job at that," Grantaire said.

"Grantaire, could you please…Could you go and help Enjolras and Cosette, please?" Combeferre said, looking at the floor.

Grantaire hesitated before backing off into the kitchen.

Éponine knew it didn't take that long to deposit some trays and a Tupperware tub into the kitchen but neither Enjolras or Cosette emerged from the kitchen. She was left alone with Combeferre.

"How dangerous is he?" Combeferre asked. "This…whatever he is to you?"

"He's – he is dangerous." Éponine sank onto the sofa, leg knocking into a cacti. "I know he is. He's – he works for my father. He deals drugs and stuff. He wasn't – he wasn't one of my father's heavies, that was Brujon and Babet and sometimes Montparnasse, he was…I don't know how to describe him. No one ever saw him. He never liked to show is face. I only saw him a few times and both times…" She shuddered.

"Are _you_ in danger?" Combeferre said. His tone was very serious.

"Montparnasse thinks I am," she whispered, raising her eyes to meet his. "I…Montparnasse is my ex-boyfriend."

"I've been told about him," Combeferre said, sitting on the sofa opposite her. "He was at the café the other day, wasn't he? Courfeyrac said he did you a favour of some kind."

"Montparnasse and I were – we were bad for each other. Toxic. But he never – well, he did lie to me but he would never lie to me about something as big as this and he thinks I'm in danger, but there's nothing he can do because…Like I said, you never see him until he wants to be seen."

"The guy that's calling you, you mean?" Combeferre said.

"Yeah." She bit her lip. "Like, he's great at phone calls and text messages and getting other guys to do his work for them but you only see him in person when he wants you to see him. I – I don't know what he's going to do next but he thinks – I think he thinks I'm sleeping with Bahorel, because that's where I went the other day with Bahorel – to my father's nightclub. Everyone thought we were a couple, so…"

"He threatened Bahorel?" Combeferre said.

"But he might have meant you," Éponine said. "He's been watching me, so…"

"He's been _watching_ you?" Combeferre echoed. "How do you know?"

"I've seen – the guy that's been working for him – I've seen him around. That's the guy that ran over my brother," she said. Her throat ached. She was going to cry, any second now, she could feel it.

"Fucking _hell_, Éponine!" She flinched, because Combeferre rarely swore and he'd _never_ sworn _at_ her before. "And you never thought to mention?"

"I didn't want to worry anyone," she whispered.

"Unfortunately, Grantaire was right," Combeferre snapped. "All you've done is worry us even more!"

"I'm sorry, okay?" Éponine said, burying her face in her hands. "I thought – I thought I could handle it. And I am _trying_, you know –"

"Look, I don't care – I don't _need_ to know about your past, Éponine, we've covered that, but when your life is potentially in danger _I need to know_, we _all_ need to know so we can be on our guard. You said yourself, this guy is clearly jealous of you sleeping with other men but he's not sure who you're sleeping with exactly so what if he starts targeting _all_ of us?"

She closed her eyes. "I didn't – he hasn't threatened _anyone_ until he ran over Gavroche, and he's only just realised there _is_ a man and…Fuck, Combeferre, I didn't…"

"You didn't think, I'm assuming, which is very, painfully obvious," Combeferre said.

Cosette emerged from the kitchen. "I think Éponine and I should go upstairs now," she said. "I need to show her my costume," she added, and gave Combeferre a look that brooked no argument. "You need to help Grantaire and Enjolras bring the rest of the food in," she said. She slipped her hand into Éponine's and gently tugged her off the sofa.

Éponine allowed herself to be pulled into the hallway, where Courfeyrac and Jehan hovered on the stairs, having clearly listened in on the conversation that had just taken place.

Cosette rolled her eyes at them. "Finish hanging up the decorations," she commanded, allowing them to finish trooping down the stairs before gently towing Éponine upstairs.


	23. House Party

**Warning: Implications of sexual violence**

**_Chapter Twenty Three_**

**House Party**

Cosette ushered her into Musichetta's bedroom. The room was all red silks and incense and purple cushions thrown over the bed, which now had the garment bags Jehan and Courfeyrac had been carrying draped over it too.

Éponine sat on the bed, not caring that she was sat on top of the garment bags. Cosette shut the bedroom door.

"Are you all right?" Cosette asked, her voice very gentle.

Éponine nodded, half-wishing it was Musichetta stood there instead of Cosette.

"I know they seem angry, but it's just because they care," Cosette continued.

"I know that," Éponine said, probably a little harsher than she should have. "It's just…I'm not…I feel bad, because it honestly never occurred to me that _he_ would involve other people. I didn't…I didn't think. If I'd known, I would…"

"You might have told someone," Cosette finished for her. "But, we don't know for certain because you let Grantaire answer your phone for you and now everyone knows. So. We're just going to have to think of a way to deal with it together now, as a group."

"I don't know _how_," Éponine murmured.

"You could go to the police," Cosette suggested, sitting next to her on the bed.

"They won't be able to get him. He's – he's slippery. They all are." Éponine sighed and rubbed her eyes. "This is _all_ my fault."

Cosette placed her hand on Éponine's arm and squeezed gently. "It's not your fault that this man – whoever he is – wants to hurt you, or Combeferre, or your brother, or any of us."

"I don't _want_ him to hurt any of you. You're…" She glanced at Cosette out of the corner of her eyes. "You're my friends."

"Yes, we are," Cosette agreed. "Which is why, as I said, we're going to _work together_. Because that's what friends do, and it's what _we_ do. Grantaire will calm down, and Combeferre will too."

She reached out and smoothed a hand over Éponine's hair. "In other news," she said, "Joly and Musichetta and Bossuet are going to get here at about seven, and it's half-five now, so me and you need to start getting ready. I left my make up bag in the car, but it won't take me a minute. Is your costume up here?"

Éponine gestured vaguely over her shoulder. "Yeah, it's over there," she said, indicating two carrier bags that respectively held her costume and Combeferre's.

"Well then." Cosette nudged her with her shoulder. "Let's distract ourselves with getting ready. I'm sure that the men folk can get by without our help."

There was a loud crash from downstairs. Éponine raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure?" she said.

Cosette gave a heavy sigh. "I thought I was," she muttered, before venturing downstairs to see what the trouble was.

OOO

It was six o'clock, and Combeferre was dressed in his homemade cowboy costume, sat on a stool in the kitchen trying not to think too hard.

He'd gone upstairs in an attempt to see if Éponine was all right, but the carrier bag with his costume in had been thrust at him by Cosette and he'd been sent on his merry way. He'd been the first to get changed, but the rest of his friends had followed suit; all of them were cowboys in various different types of cowboy costumes, Bahorel's being far too small for his broad, muscular frame because it was one he'd had from being a teenager.

Combeferre looked down at himself. He was just wearing a shirt, jeans and a black waistcoat and some accessories Éponine had picked out for him. His cowboy hat sat on the counter in front of him. He sighed as he reached out to pick it up. They'd had a good time picking out the costume – she'd found it all hilarious, the whole concept of a theme and the fact Musichetta had bought decorations intended for children's parties for Joly – and she'd refused to show him the costume she bought the same evening. He had no idea what it was, but Cosette had come in a few minutes ago wearing a denim skirt and a check shirt tied in a knot at her waist, so now his mind – the part that was desperately trying _not_ to think too hard – was filling with images of Éponine in short denim and boots.

But as pleasant as those images were, they weren't enough to take his mind off what had transpired. He felt sick at the idea of Éponine receiving those phone calls. Sick at the idea of her being scared by them, sick at the idea of her not telling him, sick at the idea that this man might hurt her, sick at the idea this man might take out his anger on any of his friends.

He just couldn't wrap his head around _why_ Éponine wouldn't tell him. It was serious; even Grantaire was a little shaken by his part in the phone calls and had promptly begun drinking the minute Bahorel and Feuilly had turned up with the alcohol provisions.

Bahorel suddenly burst into the kitchen. His costume was so small he was struggling to walk in it, and Combeferre thought it a miracle he'd managed to get it on at all. It somewhat lessened the seriousness of the look of anger on his face.

"Where is Éponine?" he demanded.

Jehan appeared behind him, dressed as Woody from _Toy Story_. "We've only just told him," he filled in for Combeferre's benefit.

"She's with Cosette, but Cosette won't let anyone in to talk to her," Combeferre said. "Why?"

"So I can find out who that bastard is and knock his teeth down his throat!" Bahorel said. "I bet it was that Montparnasse –"

"It's not," Combeferre said. "Éponine said Montparnasse knows who it is – she knows who it is."

"Did she say who?" Bahorel looked thoughtful. "Maybe if I go to her father's nightclub I'll –"

"This all sounds like a brilliant idea," Combeferre murmured, actually meaning it for once. He wasn't a violent person, but the idea of this faceless man hurting Éponine or any of his friends suddenly made him itch to punch someone as hard as he could.

"No, it sounds like a stupid one," Enjolras said, rolling his eyes. Enjolras was dressed as a sheriff, and someone – Combeferre would bet on Courfeyrac – had drawn a moustache on his top lip. "A very stupid one. I think we should all just calm down about this whole situation –"

"Calm down?" Bahorel's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline in disbelief. "That fucker –"

"Is no one to be taken lightly, from what I've gathered, but tonight is Joly's surprise birthday party and we are _not_ going to ruin it by upsetting Éponine," Enjolras said firmly. "I think you're forgetting that it's Éponine who has the most right to be upset about this entire situation."

For a few moments, he stared at them all as if daring any of them to disagree with him.

Unsurprisingly, none of them did.

OOO

Cosette had tried so hard to cheer Éponine up as they got ready, and Éponine tried her best to make it look like it was working. She let Cosette do her make up and do her hair in a somewhat elaborate up-do that she was sure would have fallen apart by the end of the evening.

She felt somewhat sad as she dressed in her costume. She'd picked it out with Combeferre in mind, having decided to forgo wearing a cowgirl costume and go as a saloon girl, complete with fishnet stockings and sky-high heels. She'd bought it with the intention of driving Combeferre mad, but now it was on, she just felt silly and a bit cheap.

Joly had pretended to be surprised, having worked out that something was going on; he donned his costume eagerly, and proceeded to have a pretend gunfight with Feuilly and Bossuet. Éponine had then helped Musichetta get ready in her short, frilly cowgirl costume, before the obligatory group photographs were taken.

It was the first time she had Combeferre since Cosette pulled her out of the room to get ready. He looked a little awkward, like he wanted to say something but didn't know what to say. She thought he looked cute in the costume; she made a mental note to encourage him to invest in more waistcoats because they suited him, but then scrapped it.

Joly's friends from university were also here, and as a lot of them were mutual friends with Combeferre, she found that his company was taken up largely by them. A part of her was just waiting for the brunette wearing pink cow print to start flirting because she was already standing too close to him for Éponine's liking.

Two beers later, she found herself sat in the garden on a wobbly green garden chair, knowing it was too cold to be outside but not feeling it. She'd lost her shoes somewhere in the house because they were hurting her feet, and she wanted a cigarette badly but couldn't be bothered going in the house and upstairs to get them – not when that meant going near some of the party-goers who seemed to see her fishnet stockings and skimpy outfit and assume she wanted to be hit on.

She was just debating whether or not she could be bothered standing up and getting her cigarettes when the packet suddenly dropped into her lap. The box bounced off onto the patio floor, and then a jacket was being draped around her shoulders, enveloping her in pleasant warmth.

She looked up, hoping to see Combeferre but instead seeing Grantaire. He thrust a lighter at her and she took it without speaking. He walked around the front and ducked down to pick up the box and placed it on her knee, before dragging one of the other plastic chairs to sit next to her.

"You all right?" Grantaire said, sipping beer whilst watching her pull out a cigarette and light it.

"Not really, no."

"Look, I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't –"

"Yes, you should have," Éponine muttered, placing her hand flat against her forehead. "I probably should have told people about the phone calls. I'm just – you know – it's – I'm so used to dealing with things by myself, and…"

"I get that," Grantaire said. "But you're not by yourself, are you? You have all of us. And all of us can look after you."

"I don't need looking after," she said.

"Well, support you, then," he said. "I know you can look after yourself. You – you've come a long way, haven't you?"

"Yeah," she said, quietly. "I have."

"And I'm proud of you for that," he said. "I – uh – I have a confession to make."

She puffed out smoke and raised her eyebrows in his direction. "What?"

"The reason I probably reacted badly was – well, I know – I know what those guys are like," he said. "I think…I think I do, anyway. When I heard the guy on the phone, I – I recognised his voice."

"How did you recognise his _voice_?" Éponine flicked ash onto the patio floor.

"I – I found something." Grantaire rubbed the back of his neck, and she swore she could see the faintest of blushes over his cheeks in the faint light pouring through the back windows on the house.

"Grantaire, spit it out," Éponine said with a roll of her eyes.

"I found a video of you on a porn site," he said, all in a rush, and the bottom of her stomach dropped out.

She didn't know what to say, so she didn't speak.

"Well, more than one," he said. "A few. I – I didn't watch them – I mean I watched the first one for like thirty seconds then I realised it was you and – shit, I guess I watched more than thirty seconds because, fuck, it – it wasn't pretty, those guys were –"

"Yeah, I know what they were," she murmured, her skin crawling. The phantom hands were back. "I, I didn't realise they were filming until – it – I wish they'd never happened."

She dropped the cigarette onto the ground and turned her head away from Grantaire. She couldn't look at him, couldn't look him in the eye.

"I wish I'd never clicked on it," he said. "But once I saw it – I went on their page – and – there were a few. Fuck, this is awkward," he added, as a quieter afterthought.

"Yep," Éponine said.

"But I remember that guy – his voice – I remember it, because he was – he was one nasty…"

"I know," Éponine cut him off. "Grantaire, trust me, I – I _know_."

She hugged his jacket tighter around her, fiddled with the sheriff's badge that had been Grantaire's one and only concession to the theme. "I try not to think about it," she said.

"I do, too," Grantaire said. "I've never told anyone."

"I appreciate that," Éponine replied.

"I don't really know how I'd drop _that_ into conversation," he admitted. "It's a bit awkward."

"Can't be anymore awkward than telling me you nearly wanked over me," she said, trying to make light of the situation but hell, it wasn't working, because there was _nothing_ funny about it.

He put his arm around her and dragged her to put her head on his shoulder. She pressed her face into the junction of his neck and shoulder.

"If it's any consolation," he murmured into her hair, "I don't think 'Ferre is angry with you. I think he's just worried. If you go and talk to him…"

"Maybe later," she said, not moving her head. "I don't feel like it right now."

She felt his nose press sharply into her head and the pressure of his mouth kissing the top of her head, and she closed her eyes.

OOO

Combeferre wasn't sure how much he'd had to drink. He'd lost count. People were talking to him, but he wasn't listening; he knew he wasn't being himself, because normally he was very polite. Not that he was being rude – he was just finding it difficult to really concentrate on the conversations he was having.

Éponine's outfit didn't help. She was showing more leg than any other woman present, and he decided that the red corset she was wearing shouldn't be legal in any way, shape or form, not when they weren't talking to each other, at least. He was trying to cope with his friends from university giving her the eye whenever she walked past. None of them knew he was in a relationship – or whatever it was – with _anyone_, let alone knowing it was with Éponine in particular, but all of a sudden he wanted to stake his claim and make sure that they all knew she was his.

He was talking to a girl – he'd seen her around before in some of his classes but they'd never really spoken before tonight – when he saw Éponine come in from the garden, followed closely by Grantaire. She had a jacket draped over her shoulders; it was a man's jacket and far too big for her, and Grantaire had his arm wrapped around her waist.

" – so what I'm trying to say is, would you like to go for a drink some time?"

He caught on to the end of the sentence and felt unbelievably bewildered by the question. Where had _that_ come from? The last he'd heard they'd been talking about her ambition to work as a carer for the elderly, not them going for drinks.

"Sorry?" he said, blinking and clutching his beer bottle a little tighter.

The girl smiled. She had hair a shade lighter than Éponine's, but her eyes were bright blue instead of the colour of dark rum, and she was probably prettier than Éponine but that didn't matter to him –

"Look, Combeferre," the girl said, stepping closer to him. He hadn't realised before how they were stood alone, to one side, away from everyone else. He scanned the room for one of his friends, and only found Courfeyrac looking horrified and Éponine looking ready to kill. He realised that the girl had put her hand on Combeferre's arm and was stepping even further into his personal space. "I've seen you around," the girl continued. "You're cute, and I want you to take me out for drinks sometime. Or…" She moved her hand so that two of her fingers were slowly dragged up his shoulder. "We could go somewhere now," she suggested, voice low and breathy.

He didn't even have to think before stepping backwards. A quick glance in Éponine's direction saw her hightailing it out of the room and into the hallway. He put his attention back on the girl. "Sorry," he said, "But I'm in a relationship."

The girl looked unimpressed. "Oh," she said. "I didn't realise. Is she here?"

"Well, she _was_," Combeferre muttered, itching to chase Éponine. "Um, I'm sure you're a nice girl, but –"

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said, now looking more disappointed. "It's fine. I get the message."

"Sorry, I've got to go and – find my girlfriend," he said, hurrying away from her before anything else could be said, feeling like the biggest dick for two very different reasons.

Éponine wasn't in the hallway, and she wasn't in the kitchen (which happened to be where the rest of his friends were, bar Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet, who had disappeared to God knows where).

Courfeyrac followed him in, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"That looked fun," he said, raising his eyebrows. "What the _hell_ was that?"

"That…That was me getting asked out," Combeferre said, putting down his beer bottle and bracing his hands on the island in the middle of the kitchen around which his friends were sat, in various states of inebriation.

"A girl asked you out?" Jehan said, perking up considerably. He'd had his head buried on his arms but now he lifted it up.

"Was it Éponine?" Bahorel demanded, spinning on his stool.

"No, but I am looking for her," Combeferre said. "Have any of you seen her?"

"I saw her walk past the door to the stairs a couple of minutes ago," Enjolras said, chin cupped in his hand.

Courfeyrac opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. He frowned. "Why are you all hiding out in here?" he said. "Shit, you're not all scared of medical students, are you?"

"I'm not," Bahorel said, cheerfully, "But there were a couple I wanted to punch in the face for reasons I'm not going to say that involve Éponine's ass."

Combeferre lifted his head. "Who? Who said that?" he demanded.

"Who gives a shit who said it," Grantaire grumbled. "Just go and find her and tell her you're not mad because right now I think she feels like public enemy number one."

"I'm not mad at her," Combeferre felt the need to point out, even though it had already been said.

"We know that," Cosette said, arms draped around Marius' neck as the man himself nuzzled her chest in a way that suggested he'd gone overboard on the beer. "But I don't think she does."

"Plus, the girl in the pink cow print can't have helped," Courfeyrac said, giving him a nudge towards the door. "Our 'Ponine has a jealous streak, who knew?"

Combeferre made his way down the hallway and climbed the stairs. There was a deflated cactus on the stairs that he slipped on; he nearly fell back down but managed to catch himself, and decided it was probably safer to crawl up the stairs on all fours. It was in this position that he found himself at the top of the stairs, sat on his haunches, wondering where Éponine could have got to.

He could hear suspicious noises behind Musichetta's bedroom door that sounded nothing like Éponine so he gave that a miss; he crawled rather clumsily to the spare bedroom, but that was empty.

He came to a stop outside the bathroom door, which was closed. He touched it gently and it gave way, so it wasn't locked. But he didn't push it open fully. Instead he leaned against the wall next to it and pressed his forehead against the wallpaper, feeling woodchip pressing into the skin on his head.

"Éponine?" he said. "Are you in there?"

He could hear sniffling. Then, "Yeah."

Without asking for permission, he nudged the door open with his head and crawled inside. Éponine was sat with her back against the edge of the bath, her legs against her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She looked sad, but her eyes were dry. At least she hadn't been crying – he wasn't sure if he could have handled that.

"Are you all right?" he said, just as she asked him why he was crawling. He considered the question for a few moments before shrugging. "It seemed easier."

"How much have you had to drink?" she said.

"Not enough," he sighed, easing himself down to sit next to her. He stretched out his leg to nudge the bathroom door shut. "I said no, by the way. To that girl."

"She was hot," Éponine murmured. "You should have said yes."

He scowled at her. "She wasn't _that_ hot."

"She was," Éponine said firmly. "I wouldn't have judged."

"I would have," he said. "And I'm a bit sad you wouldn't. I also don't believe you."

She let out the most tired, world-weary sigh that his ears had ever heard, and dropped her head onto his shoulder. "You're right," she admitted. "If you'd said yes, I probably would have contemplated cutting your balls off."

"Speaking of cutting balls off, I might have to do the same thing to some of my fellow students," Combeferre said in a dark voice.

"We could do it together," she suggested.

"I'm liking the sound of that," he said. "There's nothing like castration to bring a couple together, is there?"

"Are you mad at me?" she asked, turning her face to that her chin rested on his shoulder and he could feel the tip of her nose brushing against his neck, and there were little puffs of breath against his skin.

"No," he said.

"I don't want you to be mad at me."

"I'm not," he assured her. "I'm…I'm mad at the situation."

"Hmm." She tilted her head down so that her mouth was pressed against his shoulder.

"I tell you what," he said, "Let's talk about it tomorrow, when I'm sober."

"And now?" Éponine asked.

"Now…" He laced his fingers with hers and squeezed. "We go home."

The layers of a shirt and a waistcoat didn't matter; he still felt her mouth shaping into a smile despite it.


	24. Claquesous

**Warning: Discussions of sexual violence, forced prostitution, rape, and domestic violence**

**_Chapter Twenty Four_**

**Claquesous**

Éponine woke in her own bed, wearing her oldest, comfiest pair of pyjamas, a set made of blue and white polka-dot cotton. She was wearing socks and she could still feel the bite of hairpins against her scalp telling her she hadn't bothered to let out her hair before going to sleep.

Combeferre's arm was thrown over her waist, the weight warm and reassuring. For a few moments, she lay there and indulged in this quiet, gentle moment, where she was safe and comfortable with Combeferre, her head tucked against his shoulder.

But then the events of the day came rushing back to her – the phone call, Grantaire's response and later his confession in the garden, Combeferre and the girl in pink cow print, him drunkenly crawling to her in the bathroom, the two of them getting a taxi back here...

She sighed and covered her face with her hands. Combeferre was asleep for now, but it was only a matter of time before he woke up and wanted to _talk_. What would she say this time? Could she carry on telling him she didn't want to talk about it? It was true, but this morning…It felt different.

She no longer felt like she'd fall apart if she told him. The opposite, in fact; she almost felt like she _wanted_ to tell him.

That scared her more than anything. So gently, she pushed his arm away from her waist and rolled out of bed. She padded into her bathroom, used the toilet, and washed her hands. She caught sight of herself in the mirror. She hadn't removed her make up last night so there were black smudges beneath her eyes and a smudge of red on her chin. She sighed to herself and filled the sink with warm water, splashing it onto her face and rubbing her fingers beneath her eyes in an effort to clear some of the make up. When she felt like the majority of it was gone, she stopped, her face dripping water until she pressed a towel against her cheeks. That done, she set about removing the pins still tangled in her hair. A lot of her hairstyle had fallen out during the night, with some of it still being pinned up on top of her head; now it hung past her shoulders, knotted and tangled and feeling odd to the touch because of the copious amounts of hairspray that Cosette had used.

She was just pushing the pile of metal hairpins into her hand when she felt arms wrap around her waist. She jumped a little, even though she logically knew it could only be Combeferre. She raised her eyes to look at herself into the mirror, and saw Combeferre's head resting on her shoulder. He looked more tired than she did.

"Morning," she murmured.

"Morning," he replied. "Are you coming back to bed?"

She turned in the circle of his arms, her hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. "Do you want me to?"

He yawned. "Of course I do. Plus, we need to talk."

"Hmm." She tipped her head forwards to rest her forehead against his chest. "And you think the bed is a good place to do this?"

"No heavy projectiles in a bed," he muttered.

"If you pissed me off enough I'm sure I could turn a pillow into a very effective weapon," Éponine mused.

"A good point. Please don't, though," he said. "For one, I don't actually _plan_ on pissing you off."

"We'll see," she said, taking one of his hands in hers and pulling him back into the bedroom. She dropped all of her weight onto the bed with a huffing sound escaping her mouth, and he flopped down next to her. She appreciated the fact that this conversation, that could get very serious very quickly, was going to take place with her in her pyjamas and him in nothing more than his boxers, in her bed, still half-asleep; it made her feel a lot less anxious about what might be said in the coming minutes.

She opened her mouth to speak but Combeferre beat her to it. "I think you should go to the police," he said.

She shook her head the best she could whilst she was lying down. "No," she said out loud. "It – it won't work."

"You said yourself that he's dangerous," Combeferre said, rolling onto his stomach and turning his head so that his eyes were fixed on her.

"He is, but I feel like if I go to the police now I'll get laughed out of there," she said. "I have no record of the phone calls, and he withholds his number every single time."

"Grantaire has heard the phone calls, so you have him to back you up," Combeferre said. "You also know who tried running over your brother…"

She winced. "Yeah, I don't think Gueulemer is going to turn on him. Especially not now."

"What about Montparnasse?" Combeferre said the other man's name like it was a dirty word. "If he knows…"

"You'd never get Montparnasse in a police station," Éponine said with a snort.

"Well, what about the fact you know this guy's name?" Combeferre said, brushing a hand over her hair where it fanned out over the mattress. "You do know it, right?"

"I know the name he currently goes by," Éponine said, as he wound her hair around his fingers. "It's not his real name. I think the _real_ man disappeared a long time ago." She took in a deep breath and let it out all at once. "He lives alone, operates largely by phone calls, and he's not beyond paying people to pretend to be him in public. When he goes out himself, he keeps most of his face covered – he's tricky. I mean, all of them are, my father's lot, but he's definitely the trickiest."

"Right," Combeferre said slowly. "And what's his name?"

She rolled onto her side, her hair slipping from Combeferre's fingers. "The last I heard, he went by the name Claquesous," she said. "That's what I knew him as." She hesitated. "I…I'm probably one of the only people who has actually seen him in person. I'd – I'd know his face anywhere, just like I knew the voice when I heard it."

"Claquesous," Combeferre echoed, rolling the word around his mouth.

She braced her head on her hand, her fingers folded around the curve of her cheek. "Yep, that's the one," she said, in a tone lighter than how she really felt.

"Why," Combeferre began. His voice was tender, gentle, careful, like someone trying to coax a young kitten to them without scaring it off. He cleared his throat. "Why does this man want to hurt you, Éponine?"

She closed her eyes. She drew herself up so that she was sat upright. The bed shifted beneath her as Combeferre sat up as well.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he murmured, placing his hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

"No, I do," she said. "I think…I think I'm ready to tell you, now."

There was a long pause. She wasn't sure how long they sat there for, in silence, but eventually, she dragged up the courage to begin speaking. "You know I was in care," she said.

Combeferre nodded. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were very serious.

"I was in care because my mother and father were neglectful, and because my father used to beat me," she said. "I was taken into care because he nearly killed me. I – I think he was in prison for a little time, but I'm not sure. I never asked. When I left the care system, I…I struggled. I had support, but I still struggled. I don't – I don't really remember how I got back in touch with my parents, but it – it happened. I met Montparnasse for the first time, and we…We started sleeping together not long after. It wasn't serious at first."

Combeferre let his hand drop off her shoulder and he laced his fingers with hers instead.

"I remember Babet from when I was little," she said. "Vague memories. He was a good friend of my father's. And I'd heard the name Claquesous mentioned before, but it wasn't until then that I met him. One night in the club, Montparnasse bought coke off one of Claquesous' dealers and I ended up talking to Claquesous whilst I waited. I didn't like him. He was…He was creepy, to say the least, and I could only see his eyes. He was very suggestive, and he kept on touching my knee, and I was so relieved when Montparnasse came to get me." She shuddered, remembering. "That was when things went really shit, I suppose. Montparnasse and I got closer, in a way. I mean, we were never a…_good_ relationship. We argued a lot, and he'd smacked me a couple of times in a temper, but I never considered leaving him. He had a way with words. He still does. He can be charming. The difference is, I know what to look for now."

Combeferre squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing gently over the back of her hand in a soft stroke.

"Montparnasse was – _is_ – an addict," Éponine continued. "I don't know what he's on now, exactly. He experimented when we first got together – hell, we both did – but he began to take things more and more. He owed money to a lot of people. And…he began to offer me as a way of paying off his debts."

She realised she was squeezing Combeferre's hand very tightly, but it was all right, because he was squeezing back.

"I went along with it," Éponine said. "Like I said – he was charming. He knew what to say. He filled my head with tales – once he'd paid this one back, he'd stop taking drugs, he'd stop wasting money – and we'd save up, get a place together, and he'd break away from my father." She let out a bitter laugh. "It never happened. I should have known he was lying. I suppose I did, in a way, but still, I did what he asked. But then…Then he started using heroin. And it turned out he already owed Claquesous a fuck load of money and Claquesous had never asked for anything, but then one day – one day he asked to sleep with me."

Éponine braced her free hand, the one that wasn't tightly clasped in Combeferre's, against her knee.

"I didn't want to," she whispered. "He scared me. He actually scared me – he made me feel so uneasy…"

"Éponine, you don't have to…" Combeferre began, but she shook her head.

"I've started now, so I'll finish," she said. "Montparnasse was so desperate. I refused. He hit me, but I still refused. I ended things. But he…He was so apologetic, and then the stories started again and…I didn't want to disappoint him. So, I agreed to it."

She risked looking at Combeferre. His eyebrows were knitted together, and his eyes were hard and serious. She swallowed.

"It…It started out like the other times," she said. "The other men. Just…Sex. Not enjoyable, not for me, but just – sex. But then…He – he tied me up, before I could say anything and he just kept…hitting me. It wasn't – it wasn't like – playful – or anything – it was done to deliberately hurt me. And…Afterwards, he just – walked out and left me there. I couldn't move. I just hurt, I hurt so much. I kept on drifting in and out of consciousness. I remember Babet saying I was so badly beaten that he didn't recognise me."

She realised she was crying now, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

"It took me a while to heal properly," she said. "Montparnasse seemed to feel genuinely bad about it. He told me it wouldn't happen again, and for some reason, I believed him. But it did. It kept on happening. Not – not necessarily Claquesous, but when it was him, it was never as rough as the first time. Someone must have had words with him, I don't know. I hated everything. I began drinking. I nearly started taking drugs, too, but Babet stopped me. Not long after Babet and Montparnasse disappeared. I found out later that Montparnasse was getting off the drugs."

Éponine dashed at the tears on her face and took a deep breath. "It turns out that I needed Montparnasse and Babet around," she said. "Without them, I suppose…I suppose I was at the mercy of everyone else. Gueulemer turning up and telling me Montparnasse still owed them money, but it was all right, I could sort it out by myself if I just did one thing for them." She looked Combeferre in the eye. "This time was different. There – there were loads of them. Men, I mean. It's…It's all a blur, what happened. It makes me feel sick just thinking about it. They all wore masks. They didn't even give me a chance to reply, they were in the flat before I could say anything, and…They filmed it. They acted like I wanted it, like it was a porn film, but I didn't want it."

She was dimly aware of Combeferre's other hand taking her free one.

"I didn't realise until later that all the times with Claquesous, and the ones with Gueulemer – they were all filmed as well." She swallowed. "I've been reliably informed that all of the videos are still out there on the internet."

Combeferre let out a short, rough, angry noise. "Fuck, Éponine…"

She squeezed his hands. "Please let me finish, Combeferre," she said. "After that incident, I – I went off the rails completely. I drank more. I took drugs. One night in the club a girl called me a whore and I lost it. I attacked her, and someone called the police, and I was arrested. I ended up doing community service in a charity shop for a few weeks. I was so angry, but it was what I needed to get myself back on my feet. It was normality, you know? It showed me what life could be like. My manager there – she was one of the nicest women I ever met. Even though I was snappy, she always had time for me, and she talked to me, gave me encouragement. I always brushed it off like I wasn't paying attention, but…I was."

She gave Combeferre a small smile. "When I finished there, I broke up with Montparnasse – for good, this time – and I cut all ties with the lot of them. It – it was tough. It took me a while to get a job, in a little convenience store, and the flat I rented was just as crap as the one I'd shared with Montparnasse, but it was mine and it was different. When I first left, I got a few phone calls, from Claquesous. That was when I realised – it was just me that he was interested in. I changed my number, and I left that flat, and moved to the other side of town, completely away from them. I found another job in a café. I didn't hear from Claquesous again until a few weeks ago. I'd fooled myself into thinking he might have forgotten about me."

OOO

Combeferre watched as Éponine tilted her head back, in what appeared to be some futile attempt to keep more tears from falling. He felt physically sick, the bile rising up his throat, and his hands itched to hurt someone, to track down this _Claquesous_ and make him pay for the damage he had done to Éponine.

_Calm down_, a voice inside his head warned him. _You have to calm down. This isn't about you. This is about Éponine. She needs you to be calm_.

She was looking down at her lap and not meeting his eyes. He squeezed her fingers gently and let go of one of her hands, reaching up to curve his palm around her face. He tilted her head to look at him. Her dark eyes were watery, and her lip was wobbling. He wanted to kiss away the upset in her eyes, but he knew this wasn't the time for that, knew it wasn't what she needed.

"Éponine," he said, in the calmest voice he could manage, "I need you to know that this doesn't change anything, you telling me this. I don't think anything different of you, if that's what you're worried about."

The corners of her mouth quirked upwards, but the attempt to smile didn't make it to her eyes. "I know," she said. "I just – I've never told anyone any of this before. Not even Marius. Grantaire knows about some of it, but…" She cringed. "That's – that's different. He, uh, accidentally found some of the – some of the videos."

He nodded, slowly, processing that information. He wondered if it would be worth having a word with Grantaire, but he didn't know what he would say. He pushed that to the back of his mind and refocused his attention back on the woman in front of him.

"I appreciate you being honest with me," he said, not sure how else to phrase it. The wording sounded all wrong, even to his own ears, but it was the only thing he could think of.

"I thought you needed to know," she murmured. "To know what we're dealing with – you know, you needed to know everything, not just he's dangerous and…deals drugs."

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She pressed her face into his chest and he felt her body trembling and shaking as she cried into him. He murmured nonsense into her hair, promises that it would be okay, promises that he would look after her.

In truth, he didn't know what to do. He had what he wanted. He knew things about Éponine now that no one else knew. And what he knew was horrible; he wished he could take away her bad memories, and he wished he could bleach it from his brain as well. Even with her past put to one side, this situation was still completely unfamiliar. He had no experience of dealing with men like Claquesous, and he still thought that the police would be their best option, but he knew that Éponine's mind would be tough to change.

He was still furious inside, furious at Éponine's parents for their abuse, furious at Montparnasse for his selfishness, furious at Claquesous for his cruelty, furious at everything. He wanted to shout and kick and scream, but the need to support Éponine and stay with her, make sure that she was all right, overrode all of his anger.

She didn't need any more negativity, he realised. She didn't need him turning into the overprotective man. She just needed him to be _there_ – that was probably all she'd ever wanted from anyone, and it made is heart ache to realise just how alone Éponine had been for all this time.

Closing his eyes, he pressed his mouth against Éponine's scalp and made himself vow that he would help with her through this.

OOO

Later, they showered together, and Combeferre made them both a greasy breakfast from what he found in her fridge. It was just eggs and sausage with fried bread, and he wished they had bacon, but it was enough to satisfy them. They spent the rest of the day on the sofa, not really talking, watching a box set of terrible disaster movies that Éponine had borrowed from Grantaire. He sat with his feet up, tucked behind her, whilst she carved images into small discs of clay with a metal skewer. One film down and she had etched the face of a tiger into one disc, a wolf into another, and a butterfly into a third, and then she took a break to begin shaping coloured clay into flowers.

He probably paid more attention to her hands working busily than he did the awful film that was playing, but he didn't mind. She had skill, and he liked seeing her end results.

"Cosette said you sell your jewellery," he said, out of nowhere, watching her carefully shaping the petals on a pink clay flower.

"I have an online shop," she said. "But I don't get a lot of traffic and not many sales. Not enough to live on."

"Would you want to?" he asked. "Make a living from it, I mean."

"Sure, it'd be nice," she said, with a shrug. "More fun than the supermarket, that's for sure. But I'd need a proper website, or a shop, or…Well, before I even had that I'd need money to do it, which I don't have."

"You could get a loan," Combeferre suggested.

"Hmm." She sat back on the sofa, rubbing a tiny piece of clay between her thumb and forefinger. "I could. I just, I don't know. I can't see me doing it by myself."

"I just thought," he said, then decided to rephrase it. "It makes you happy. I can tell. You enjoy it. It just seems a shame that you can't do this all the time."

"I agree," she said, squashing the tiny ball of clay. "I wish I could, too."

He reached out to brush hair off her face. It was still damp from their shared shower, but only slightly. She leaned into his hand, her eyes fluttering shut.

He thought to himself then that if he could keep on having afternoons like this one, curled up with Éponine wasting the day away on nothing at all, for the rest of his life, he would die a happy man.

**A/N: I know I'm taking liberties with Claquesous' character but he worked the best in this role out of the characters in the Patron-Minette if I didn't go down the usual route of using Montparnasse.**


	25. Meet Me at the Park

**Warning: Violent themes towards the end of the chapter**

**_Chapter Twenty Five_**

**Meet Me at the Park**

"So where's Combeferre, again?" Cosette asked, draining the mug of tea that Éponine had prepared for her.

It was one week after Joly's party, and Cosette had popped over, unannounced, to talk to Éponine about everything and nothing, fortunately catching Éponine in a moment where she wasn't preparing for work or with Combeferre. She had, however, been painting the clay pendants she had made during her lazy day with Combeferre, and Cosette had helpfully suggested colours in between chatting.

During the process of their chat, Éponine discovered that Cosette was meeting Marius at half-four so they could get lunch at the Café Musain, and Éponine told her about her conversation with Combeferre about her past – although she left out certain details, such as the specifics _of_ her past. Although it felt nice to feel comfortable enough with someone to finally be able to tell them what had happened to her, Éponine didn't feel quite ready to tell anybody else. Even if she did, Cosette probably wouldn't be the first person she'd tell, even if she found she was beginning to see Cosette as a friend.

"He's at the café," Éponine replied, using a tissue to gently wipe up some stray pale green metallic paint that had found its way down the edge of the pendant she was painting. "Studying. He was so proud of himself – he reckoned he'd managed to work out a perfect time where none of his friends would disturb him."

"Couldn't he have stayed here?" Cosette said, raising her eyebrows. "I mean, it's your apartment, and it's not like Courfeyrac's always over here, is it?"

Éponine snorted. "_I'm_ here," she said, pointedly.

After a few moments, a slow grin spread across Cosette's face. "Oh! I think I get you," she said. She laughed. "Well, fair enough. I just hope none of that lot decided to go to the Musain."

"He'll deal with it if they have," she said. "As you said, it was more Courfeyrac that Combeferre was worried about. He loves the guy, but he's _Courfeyrac_."

"Courfeyrac _is_ a force of nature at times," Cosette said, nodding in agreement.

"That's one phrase for it," Éponine muttered, her paintbrush delicately flicking coppery reddish browns over the face of a tiger.

"I was trying to be polite," Cosette grinned. "At the very least, I promise that Marius and I will keep out of his way."

Éponine's phone, sat a few inches away from her work on the coffee table, buzzed and dinged at the same time, the screen flashing green. With a sigh, she propped her paintbrush on the table so that the wet brush end was resting on some tissue and grabbed her phone.

It was a text message, from an unknown number.

**HI EPONINE ITS GAVROCHE IVE GOT A NEW PHONE SOZ I MENT 2 TEXT U THE NUMBER I 4GOT **

She read this and gave a small nod, but then her phone vibrated again in her hand as another message was sent.

**COULD U MEET ME AT THE PARK NEAR UR CAFE IVE ARGUED W/ MOTH ER NEED 2 TALK 2 SUM1**

"Is everything all right?" Cosette's voice broke through the train of thought caused by these text messages.

"Yeah…It's just Gavroche – apparently he's argued with Juliette and he wants to talk to someone," Éponine said, frowning. "It's just – you know, he's never really text me before? I mean he does sometimes but…I don't know. He must be upset."

Cosette's face was concerned. "Is he all right? Do you need to phone him?"

Éponine cradled her phone in her hands and twisted her mouth. "He wants me to meet him," she said. "At that park near the café."

"The one with the children's play area?" Cosette said, nodding. "Well, that's on the way to the café from here. You can walk with me if you like, I'm meeting Marius there in a bit."

Éponine glanced at her pendants, some of their surfaces still gleaming as they dried. Then she wriggled her toes, clad in her oldest, holey socks, and thought about the fact she hadn't intended on leaving her apartment at all if she could help it. Then she thought about Gavroche being upset and pushed herself off the sofa.

"Just give me a minute to put some shoes on," she said, dragging herself into her room where she swapped her pyjama pants for some plain black leggings and shoved her boots onto her feet. She put on a dark maroon hoodie that belonged to Combeferre but had been dumped on her floor and zipped it up to her chin, covering up the baggy T-shirt she'd been wearing to doss about in. She didn't even think about putting on a bra and was in the process of twisting her hair up into a messy bun on her head as she walked back through to the living room, where Cosette waited with her handbag over one shoulder.

"I don't need anything more than a phone, do I?" Éponine said, more to herself than to Cosette, picking up her phone.

"Well, if you come to the Musain afterwards I'm sure that Combeferre will buy you a drink," Cosette said.

Éponine pointed at Cosette. "I like your thinking," she said.

"You could also take Gavroche there," Cosette suggested.

"Yeah, I'll see how he is," Éponine said, pressing the _Reply_ button and quickly writing out a text message.

**I'LL BE THERE IN 15 PROBS SEE YOU X**

Hitting send, she nodded at Cosette. "Come on," she said, "I don't want to keep him waiting for too long."

The walk to the park didn't feel very long at all, because Cosette liked to talk enough for the both of them. She told Éponine about how she was considering packing in her job at the library, if she could find an alternative soon. She was still lauding volunteering in charity shops, but Éponine's mind was firmly on Gavroche and this argument he'd had with Juliette. She couldn't think of what they could possibly be arguing about, but she supposed she didn't _really_ know their family dynamic well enough to know the sorts of issues they might have.

They finally reached the park gates. Éponine could see the swings and the sandpit and a couple walking their dog.

"Well, this is me," Éponine said. "Enjoy your film."

"Oh, thank you," Cosette said, smiling brightly. "I hope Gavroche is all right."

They said their goodbyes and Éponine walked into the park.

OOO

Combeferre had found himself sat alone in the Café Musain, sipping a cup of coffee in between reading back his notes to himself. He was enjoying the peace and quiet for once, not really being sure where the rest of his friends were. As much as he loved them all, it was nice to get some quiet time once in a while. He'd even taken the precaution to sit at a table by himself in the corner, just in case they did turn up, in the hopes that they might miss him and go and go to the sofas where they would usually sit.

"Hey, Combeferre."

Combeferre looked up from his notes to see Marius hovering next to his table. Combeferre glanced past him out of curiosity, assuming there would be at least one other friend there with him, but there wasn't – it was just Marius.

"Hey," he said. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm just meeting up with Cosette," Marius replied, then glanced at the watch on his wrist. "But she won't be here for a few more minutes. I'm glad I caught you, actually – I've been wanting a word for a while."

He dropped into the chair opposite Combeferre's. Combeferre sat back in his seat, curiosity causing his brow to furrow.

"I just wondered how you were getting on with Éponine now," Marius said. "You know after…After the other night –"

"You mean with the phone calls?" Combeferre said.

"No – well, yeah, but I meant the other thing." Marius leaned across the table towards him. "You know, when we were all at Bossuet's? The secrets-y thing."

Realisation dawned on Combeferre. "Oh. Right. Yeah, I think I know what you're talking about."

Silence stretched out between them as Combeferre tried to work out what he was supposed to say.

"Things are…better," he said, eventually. "She's talking more."

Marius smiled brightly. "That's good. I mean it. I think that's really good. She needs to be able to speak to someone and I can't think of anyone better for it, if I'm honest. I mean, she never tried telling me anything about her past but I'm kind of glad – I wouldn't know how to deal with it."

Combeferre wondered whether the defensive feeling that rose up inside him at Marius' words was natural or a tad overreacting.

"I worry about her, sometimes," Marius continued, "But I've been worrying less and less now I know she's got you."

"If you worry about her so much, why did you leave her?" Combeferre said the words before he could really think of the implications behind them, and wished he could snatch them back into his mouth.

Marius stared at him. It was apparently now his turn to feel awkward and wonder what he was supposed to say. "I…" The other man frowned. "It's – I mean, it wasn't…It wasn't an easy decision to make, except that it completely_ was_ an easy decision to make. I never loved Éponine. The feelings I had for her were nowhere near love, apart from maybe as a friend. I never really felt like I knew her, you know? But when I met Cosette – I don't know – it was instant. I felt like I'd known her all my life, and things came so easily with her, things that had felt forced with Éponine. And it wasn't long after I realised that Éponine never really loved me, either."

"What do you mean?" Combeferre asked, curiously. "She was torn up when you ended it."

"I don't think it was love," Marius said, with a shrug. "I think Éponine was more in love with the idea of _being_ in love, if that makes sense. It was what made ending this difficult, because I knew she needed someone to think she was in love with. But it wasn't fair on anyone involved to keep it going – it wasn't fair on me when I didn't love her, it wasn't fair on Cosette who liked me, and it wasn't fair on Éponine to let her keep up this façade she'd cooked up that we were going to settle down and live happily ever after. That was never going to happen. Not with me and her. We weren't _right_ for each other."

Combeferre let that sink in. He had never personally thought that Éponine and Marius worked as a couple, but he'd always put it down to his own feelings towards Éponine and the jealousy he felt as a result. He knew that some of their friends had felt the same – Enjolras definitely had – but he'd never, ever expected Marius to have felt the same way.

"And I don't regret it," Marius continued. "I regret that I hurt her, but I would never change things. I love Cosette, and I'm fairly certain she's the only one meant for me."

"If you never felt like it worked, why did you even bother going there?" Combeferre demanded.

"Because feelings change and things grow," Marius shrugged. "I honestly thought that I might develop feelings for her. It just didn't happen. Cosette just pushed me to making a decision I'd been thinking about for a very long time." He sat backwards, and smiled. It was a sad sort of smile, and one that Combeferre couldn't even begin to interpret.

"I hope that you and her work out better than me and her ever did," Marius said, quietly. "Like I said, despite everything else I do worry about her sometime and I just want to see her happy. I know that Cosette feels the same."

"And you think I'm the man that will make her happy?" Combeferre said dryly.

"Eh." Marius shrugged. "Éponine doesn't need a man to make her happy. But I'm sure you can help contribute."

The door to the café opened and Cosette slipped in. Marius twisted to look at her and the expression that flitted across his face was one of pure joy. It made one half of Combeferre want to throw up, and the other half feel happy in the face of Marius' happiness.

He settled on nodding his head at the woman walking over to them. "Have a nice time," he said, having no idea of what they were doing.

Marius grinned at him. "Oh, we will," he said, getting to his feet. "I'll probably see you later. We're just having some food here."

"Don't worry, we'll keep out of your way," Cosette said, sliding her arm through Marius' arm. "Come on, sweetie, let's not disturb Combeferre. He's _studying_." She gave him a smile that could light up a room. "Éponine told me," she added, in a lower whisper.

"You've seen Éponine?" Combeferre said, tapping his pen against his mouth.

"Yeah, I just popped over for a cup of tea," Cosette said. "But Gavroche texted – he was a bit upset about something and wanted to see her, so she's meeting him at that park down the road."

"Oh." Combeferre nodded his head. "Fair enough. Did she say what she was doing afterwards?"

"Well, I did suggest that she come in here and make you buy her a drink," Cosette said.

Combeferre rolled his eyes. "Of course," he said, amused. "Thanks for letting me know, Cosette."

"No problem," she beamed. "Come _on_, Marius…"

Combeferre watched the young woman gently tow Marius over to the counter, before looking down at his notes and trying to resume his attempts at studying.

OOO

Éponine had been in the park for all of five seconds when she realised she had not thought to ask Gavroche where he was in the park.

As this thought entered her head, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and fired off a quick text.

**GAV WHERE ARE YOU?**

Sending it, she put the phone back and decided that in the meantime, she would quickly make her way around the whole park and see if she could spot him.

The park itself had the children's area near the gates she had just walked through, and then the rest of it was expanses of grass and gently rolling hills, broken up by the occasional picnic table or bench. On the other side were tennis courts and some basketball hoops, behind some wire fences, and paved paths wound their way throughout the park.

In the middle of the park was the lake, surrounded by a small copse of trees. The paved paths turned into gravelly tracks as they reached the trees, winding even narrower routes through the thick green bushes until you reached the lake itself. There were a couple of picnic tables and some benches next to the lake, which was home to some grumpy spoiled ducks who always expected bread from you.

Éponine knew this from wanderings she had done when she was bored and one time where Marius thought feeding ducks would be a cute date. It had been raining the day they had gone and it hadn't gone as planned, as a particularly bad-tempered goose took an exception to Marius and chased him out of the woods.

Éponine chose to walk around the open areas of the park first. A quick scan of the children's area quickly told her that Gavroche was not there. Five minutes later, and she had not found Gavroche at any of the picnic tables or sat on any of the benches.

There were some teenagers playing football on the tennis courts, which got her hopes up initially, but on closer inspection she realised that they were a couple of years younger than Gavroche and she couldn't see him with them regardless, so she backed away from the tennis courts just as her phone buzzed in her pocket.

**IM AT THE LAKE**

That made things pretty simple, so she set off down one of the paved paths towards the copse of trees in the distance.

She passed an old lady walking her tiny, ratty dog and then a young couple both shrieking with laughter as the girl was chased by the boy. The boy nearly collided with Éponine as he ran, and he managed to shout out a breathless "_Sorry_!" before carrying on his way.

The world around her darkened and the ground beneath her began to crunch underfoot as she stepped beneath the trees. It was a touch cooler here, under the shade of the branches and leaves, as well as a lot quieter and a whole lot more peaceful than the rest of the park. The sound of the couple laughing and dogs yapping and teenage boys shouting over a football match faded away the deeper she walked into the woods.

The paths here were very winding and branched off every few feet, so there was no one clear cut, really easy way to get to the lake that lay at the heart of the trees. Éponine tried to keep it as straightforward as she possibly could, not taking too many detours and just trying to walk in a straight line.

It felt like she was completely alone. It was getting late, and she couldn't imagine that the lake was very popular with families once the sun had started to go in and the temperature had begun to drop. She hugged Combeferre's jacket tighter around herself as she walked, almost wishing she had put on something a bit heavier, something less penetrable by the cold, maybe like her leather jacket or something.

She pulled her phone out and wrote a quick text.

**YOU'D BETTER APPRECIATE THIS GAV SERIOUSLY**

And then she wrote out another one after she had sent that, this time to Combeferre.

**PRETTY PLEASE ORDER ME A HOT CHOCOLATE IN ABOUT 10 MINUTES I'LL PROBS BE BRINGING GAV WITH ME :) SEE YOU LATER X**

Pressing send on that message, she looked up ahead and realised that the path was opening out as she reached the lake. There was more light up ahead, and she could already hear the sound of ducks quacking.

She put her phone back in her pocket and sped up.

The lake was as she remembered it – somewhat scabby ducks floating around one end, bills picking through the scum on top of the water, some grubby picnic tables, and a worn bench.

The one big glaring problem with the scene before her was that Gavroche was not there. He was not on the bench, or at any of the picnic tables. In fact, the area was completely empty and she realised, with a slightly sickening jolt in her stomach, that she was alone.

She reached into her pocket with every intention of firing off an angrily worded text message to her brother when she heard the sound of twigs snapping somewhere behind her.

She whirled on the spot, feeling like there were hundreds of ants crawling up her neck. She felt like her mouth was filled with cotton wool and she was torn between wanting to shout out and demand to know who was there and just…running, which was the option that her body chose. She began to run but then a large figure dashed out of the trees and loomed over her.

It was Gueulemer. She could tell that instantly, despite the ugly bruises and cuts and scrapes on his face and the slightly odd way he was walking and the fact that when he smiled – or grimaced, yeah, it was more of a grimace – about five of his front teeth were missing.

"I always thought you were cleverer than that," he said, voice rasping, and he grabbed her. She screamed and lashed out with her legs, pounding his hands with her fists. He let out a small grunt of pain. "Stupid bitch," he panted. "Fucking –"

There was something covering her face and it smelt strong and too strong and _what the fuck was that_ but the world was swimming and slipping and sliding out of view but she could see just up ahead on the opposite side of the lake someone too familiar, tall and skinny with dark hair and a scarf covering his lower face but she'd know those eyes anywhere and those _hands_ twisting together in front of him and _no no no _–

Everything went black.


	26. On Her Own

**Warning: Mentions of violence and rape**

**_Chapter Twenty Six_**

**On Her Own**

Combeferre was allowed to study in peace for a further five minutes before all of his friends suddenly piled into the Café Musain and disrupted everything.

Courfeyrac persuaded him to pack his stuff up into his satchel and move over to the sofas, where a loud conversation about the girl that Feuilly had managed to get a date with the following night took place.

"It was about time!" Courfeyrac boomed. "You've been dancing around her for weeks –"

"Sorry we don't all have your cockiness," Feuilly muttered with a roll of his eyes. "And you're all overreacting. It's _one date_ –"

"Yeah, sure, but less than that can lead to so much more," Jehan gushed.

"Look at Combeferre and Éponine," Courfeyrac said, gesturing at Combeferre. He groaned in response. "They had a one night stand and now they might as well be _married_ –"

"We're not _married_," Combeferre cut him off. "And we act no more like it than Marius and Cosette or Joly and Musichetta –"

"So you're admitting that you act like a proper _couple_ at the very least," Musichetta piped up, her dark eyes twinkling.

Combeferre felt his heat up. "Well – maybe you have a point," he allowed. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He slipped it out. It was from Éponine.

**PRETTY PLEASE ORDER ME A HOT CHOCOLATE IN ABOUT 10 MINUTES I'LL PROBS BE BRINGING GAV WITH ME :) SEE YOU LATER X**

"Hey, guys," he said. "Éponine's just text me – she's going to be here in about ten and she's probably bringing her brother with her, so you _all_ need to be on your best behaviour."

This just fired off even more excited chatter from his friends.

The door to the café opened. He glanced towards the source of the noise absently, without even thinking. Two people stepped in – a man and a woman. He recognised the man instantly; it was Montparnasse, tall, all high cheekbones and long limbs, glossy black hair. He was wearing a fitted grey blazer over a black and white striped T-shirt and black jeans and pointy shoes and there was an irritated look on his face.

The woman following him was both completely familiar and completely unfamiliar. The dark brown hair was like Éponine's, a tangle around her face, and the eyes were Éponine's dark rum colour, but her face was more angular and her body thinner, wiry, nearing scrawny. Her grey T-shirt was cropped to bare her midriff, which was dotted with bruises of various sizes and colours, and her denim shorts were barely there. Combeferre could only presume that she was Éponine's sister, or at least a cousin – hell, she was definitely Éponine's_ something_ – the family resemblance was too close.

Montparnasse spun as he stepped inside and the girl shoved at him. "You're not fucking _leaving_, Montparnasse," she spat. "Get over there and tell them!"

"I swear, Azelma, are you _looking_ for a smack?" Montparnasse ground out, turning back around with a wrinkled nose.

"You'd hit me once," Azelma snapped back, giving him a shove in between his shoulder blades. "And I _promise_ I would cut off your dick when I got the first chance, now fucking _tell them_! I am not having my sister beaten to fucking death because you're an asshole who's scared of my father, you fucking prick, so get over there and –"

"All right, all right," Montparnasse cut her off. "Stop shoving me or I'll slice your fingers off. Then how could you cut my dick off?"

"I'd tear it off with my fucking teeth, dickhead, now shut the fuck up and _tell them_," Azelma said, giving him one last shove.

"You do realise that you've just contradicted yourself, right?" Montparnasse said, stepping towards their sofas. By now, all of Combeferre's friends were watching the couple's progress across the café, including Cosette and Marius, who remained sat at a smaller table away from their friends eating their dinner.

Combeferre was watching them too but if he was being completely honest his mind was stuck on _I am not having my sister beaten to fucking death_ and he wasn't really sure how to process anything else apart from that fact and the way that his heart was pounding madly in his chest.

"Azelma would like me to pass on the message that Éponine's phantom caller may or may not be getting ready to…" He turned towards Azelma. "What exactly are they planning to do?"

"It's Claquesous," Azelma said, glowering at Montparnasse in a way that would have most men cowering under their beds. "Probably a beating and rape and _fucking hell Montparnasse this isn't getting the issue solved_!"

"All right, keep your pants on," Montparnasse said with a roll of his eyes. "You need to keep an eye on Éponine, is what we're getting at here, because she's in danger from this guy called Claquesous –"

"I know about Claquesous," Combeferre bit out.

"Well, then, Specs, you should know how dangerous he is," Montparnasse said. "Where is she?"

"She's at the park," Cosette spoke up, calling across the café. "She's meeting her brother."

"No," Montparnasse said. "No, she's not."

Combeferre pinched the bridge of his nose. "So you're saying that Claquesous – is going to _what_, kidnap her?"

"He has Gueulemer with him, so probably," Montparnasse said. He grinned, but it was mostly just a show of teeth. "Should have killed him when I had the chance."

"I swear, when this is over I am fucking killing the lot of you," Azelma spat.

"Yeah, yeah." Montparnasse flapped a hand at her. "No, you're not – if anyone is dying it's probably you because Thenardier told us _not_ to interfere and this is _fucking interfering Azelma _–"

"I am past giving a shit what that bastard tells us to do," Azelma said. Then she looked at the rest of them, her gaze imploring. "Just…Just find her."

Then she turned on her heel and stalked out of the café.

"You know," Montparnasse said, in a slightly vacant voice, "Éponine used to be like her once."

"Yeah, but you did your best to beat it out of her," Combeferre said, in a voice that sounded icy cold even to his own ears.

"Well, Specs, we can't all be saints," Montparnasse replied, throwing his hands in the air.

"Just get the fuck out of the café," Combeferre said, getting to his feet.

"Don't worry, I'm going," Montparnasse said. "When you find Éponine – if she's not, you know, dead, or whatever – tell me she owes me for this, you got it?"

And with that, Montparnasse swept out of the café.

The moment the door to the café had swung shut everyone began to talk loudly and very fast, but it was hard for Combeferre to process anything that anybody was saying over the chaos that was inside his own head. _Kidnap_ – _probably a beating and rape_ – _I am not having my sister beaten to fucking death_ – round and round in circles in his head, until the phrases lost their structure and it was one massive jumble – _rape death Éponine kidnap death rape beaten_, and then Montparnasse's last on the subject thrown in for good measure, "_When you find Éponine – if she's not, you know, dead, or whatever_…"

"Everyone, _be quiet_," Enjolras interrupted all of the chatter, and instantly, everyone did as they were told. Combeferre even looked round to his oldest friend instead of staring at the floor, and slowly sank back down into the sofa. Musichetta looked three seconds away from crying and was clutching Joly's hand to her chest like it was a lifeline, whilst Cosette and Marius had moved to stand over them. Marius' face was pale, but there was some kind of steely determination in Cosette's eyes behind her concern.

"Shouting at each other like that is not going to get anything solved," Enjolras said, calmly, and it registered in Combeferre's mind that _calm and collected_ was supposed to be _his_ job, not Enjolras', but Combeferre wasn't sure he could string a coherent sentence together right now, not considering the nasty, horrible images that his mind was throwing up for him. "We need to be rational about this. None of us know that man particularly well, but we all suspect that he is not the most trustworthy of men –"

"Are you suggesting he was fucking _lying_?" Grantaire demanded, an aggressive question that Combeferre had wanted to snap himself.

"No," Enjolras said, shaking his head. "I am saying that there may be a certain level of exaggeration to what he said. He knows that this man – whoever he is – is apparently going to do something to Éponine, but we have _no_ evidence to suggest that the message Éponine received from her brother was a fake. It could be that her brother genuinely has a crisis, and both of them could walk through that door any minute now."

All of his friends turned to look at the doors, hoping that this would be true, but apart from an elderly gentleman shuffling past Éponine did not materialise.

"However, it could have been a false message and Éponine could be in danger," Enjolras continued. "So I suggest that _some of us_ head down to the park and have a good look around, whilst the rest of us remain here and try and get hold of Éponine through her phone."

"I agree with Enjolras," Cosette said, firmly. "Bahorel, Grantaire, and Bossuet, I think that you should head to the park –"

"I want to go," Combeferre interrupted. "I want to go with them."

"With Combeferre," Cosette added, giving him a small smile. "The rest of us can stay here. Does that sound fair?"

"I think that we should all go," Jehan said. "More eyes, more minds, you know, we'll be able to spot things faster."

"Plus, there's safety in numbers," Joly spoke up. "I don't like the sound of these guys…"

"They're nasty pieces of work," Combeferre spoke up. "It's a man named Claquesous – he's the caller, the brains – and Gueulemer – I assume he's just the muscle."

"That name…" Cosette shook her head. "It sounds familiar."

"That night at the club," Musichetta said, giving Joly's hand a squeeze. "The one that tried hitting on you – remember, he dragged Éponine off…"

Cosette's eyes widened. "He was massive," she murmured, leaning into Marius.

"Then we all go," Enjolras said. "As you said, more eyes can't hurt, and there's safety in numbers if they _are_ there and things get out of hand."

"We'll stay here," Musichetta said, gesturing between herself and Cosette with her free hand. "And we'll start phoning her, won't we, Cosette?"

"Of course," Cosette said, nodding. "And if we get hold of her we'll phone one of you straight away."

The men began to collect their things together and pile out of the café, Cosette having extracted a promise from each and every one of them to keep them updated on the situation at the park, whilst the two women left behind began their rounds of phone calls.

OOO

Combeferre ended up wandering around the park with Courfeyrac and Enjolras. He couldn't remember the time he last saw Courfeyrac this quiet, and the look on Enjolras' face was downright terrifying. He looked ready to rip someone's head off at the first chance, and Combeferre could feel his own temper was pretty much in the same state, which probably explained Courfeyrac's uncharacteristic silence.

They walked around, simply shouting Éponine's name, and occasionally Gavroche's. The park was large but they saw no evidence of her anywhere, and passed the rest of their friends more than once.

"This is useless," Combeferre muttered, darkly. "She's not here."

"Bahorel and Grantaire are checking the woods," Courfeyrac said in response.

Enjolras suddenly peeled away from them, walking right up to the tennis courts. A group of teenage boys were playing football in there, but it only took a few words from Enjolras to have a couple of them running over.

The shorter of the two boys that came over began to gesture, pointing in the direction of one of the park's exits, his face moving in such an exaggerated manner that it was almost comical. Enjolras patted his hand on the wire fence that ran around the tennis courts and hurried back over to them.

"I asked them if they'd seen a girl of Éponine's description," Enjolras explained. "They said they saw a really drunk girl being lead out of the park by two men, but all they could say was she had dark hair. Apparently she was really out of it, could barely walk…"

At that moment, Bahorel came running out of the copse of trees at the heart of the park, a grim expression on his face. There was something in his hands, but it wasn't until Bahorel got closer that he could see clearly what it was.

It was Éponine's phone. Bahorel wordlessly handed it over, and a quick press of the buttons revealed all of the missed calls and texts from Cosette and Musichetta.

He closed his fingers around the phone. "She wouldn't just lose her phone," he said.

"All the ground where we found it was all turned up," Bahorel said, quietly. "More than usual – like there'd been a bit of a struggle."

Enjolras clapped a hand down on Combeferre's shoulder. "Try not to worry," he said in a soft whisper, and then said in a louder voice, "Bahorel, can you please phone Cosette and Musichetta and tell them what we've found. We'll head over to Éponine's to see if she might be there, and Courfeyrac can head back to his on the off-chance she might have gone there instead – don't look at me like that, Bahorel, we don't know for _sure_ that something bad has happened – and whilst we do that, Combeferre can phone Éponine's brother."

Combeferre nodded, trying to force the cacophony of _rapebeatingdeath_ out of his head.

OOO

Éponine felt like someone was repeatedly hitting the inside of her skull with a hammer. She also wouldn't have been surprised to learn that someone had tried to glue her eyelids together with the amount of effort it took to actually open them.

But she finally managed it, and it took a few moments for it to register what had happened. Then it all came flooding back – 'Gavroche's' text message, the park, the woods, Gueulemer grabbing her, the sight of Claquesous over the lake…

She was looking up at a ceiling that had probably once been white, but damp had gotten to it, so there were huge great dark stains over it. The air smelt musty and unclean and faintly of body odour. Her heart was beating so hard she felt like it could come out of her chest at any moment.

She tried sitting up, but found she couldn't. Panic immediately rose up inside her, pure and utter _panic_, once she had registered how there was something wound tightly around her wrists and her ankles and _fuck she couldn't move at all_, someone had tied her down – oh and she _knew_ who had tied her down because he always tied her down, _always_ – _it's much more fun this way_…

Out of desperation she began to pull and tug at the ties around her wrists but they weren't budging. She didn't know where Claquesous had learned how to tie knots but he was fucking good at them. The rope grated against her skin, the fibres burning her unpleasantly.

She began screaming without really realising what she was doing, screaming so loudly that her throat hurt, and she felt like she couldn't breathe, she couldn't fucking breathe, there was no _air_ to breathe…

She wasn't sure how long had passed, but eventually her breathing evened out and the shaking stopped and she really hoped she wasn't going to be sick because she was on her back, but she was definitely crying even though she couldn't hear the sound of her crying. The tears felt cold on her face and her heart was still pounding furiously in her chest.

She turned her head one way, looking over the room she had been put in. Although it was grubby and dirty, it wasn't messy, and it was sparsely decorated – there was a chair by the door and a table and _shit_ was that a camera on the table? She could feel herself shaking again, so she told herself to ignore the camera for now. She allowed her eyes to track downwards and there was a jolt in her stomach when she recognised a heap of fabric that was lying on the floor. It was Combeferre's dark maroon hoodie, she recognised the colour, but it had been cut to shreds and now it just sat there in a heap.

Closing her eyes, she turned her head the other way. When she opened them again, more tears flooded down her face and then it turned to full-blown sobbing when she saw what Claquesous had placed on the bed next to her head. It was a belt, just a plain black leather belt, but the buckle had an intricate pattern of thorny vines over it, curling around an ornate letter 'C'. The sight of the belt just made her feel sick. She'd been hit by that belt, more than once, in fact too many times to count, and she knew what it felt like when the buckle met her skin.

She couldn't go through that again – she couldn't. Once her tears had subsided, some kind of steely determination rose up to take over the panic, and she decided that she would not be going down without a fight. That thought in her head, she began to twist her fingers into the ropes around her wrist, pulling on them in what she hoped would be a way to get the ropes to loosen. It was the only thing she could think of to do, and after all, she didn't think that anyone else was coming for her; no one would miss her for a while and even then how would they find Claquesous' apartment?

No, this was something she'd have to try and do on her own - and she hoped to God that it would work.


	27. Mad and Ridiculous

**Warning: Violence**

**_Chapter Twenty Seven_**

**Mad and Ridiculous**

Musichetta ended her phone call with Bahorel and tossed her phone onto the sofa beside her. She buried her face in her hands, her fingers tangling with her hair as a small huff of breath escaped her lips.

"They found her phone at the park," she said to Cosette, who was chewing on her lower lip, her face etched with concern. "But no sign of Éponine – and some kids said they saw a dark-haired girl being carried out of the park and she seemed really drunk…I don't know, Cosette, I just have a _really_ bad feeling about all of this –"

"Shhh, 'Chetta…" Cosette edged closer to her on the sofa and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Let's not lose our heads…That won't help anyone, especially not Éponine…"

"I just wish there was something we could do," Musichetta said, hearing the way her own voice cracked and hating it. "Bahorel said that Combeferre is trying to get hold of Gavroche to find out whether or not he asked to meet her…"

"I just hope this is all some misunderstanding," Cosette murmured.

"She should have called the police when this all started," Musichetta said. "No – scrap that – _we_ should have called the police after that _incident_ with that guy in the club, regardless of what she said…He physically attacked her _then_ and we didn't even call the police, maybe all of this would have been nipped in the bud if we'd acted _then_ –"

"That's a big _if_," Cosette said, soothingly. "We have no idea what would have happened if we _had_ called the police then…He was just a random guy to us then and he left, remember? He probably told us a false name –"

"He didn't," Musichetta said, shaking her head. "The minute that Combeferre said it before I recognised it – Gueulemer. Besides, Éponine knew his name."

"He _did_ tell us his name, didn't he," Cosette murmured, her arms falling away from Musichetta. Her back went rigid and when Musichetta looked at her, there was a look of fierce concentration on her face.

"What is it?" Musichetta said urgently. Her phone buzzed on the sofa cushion. She picked it up, taking her eyes off Cosette as she took in the new text message from Joly.

**IT WASNT GAVROCHE. WERE ALL MEETING UP TO WORK OUT WHAT TO DO NEXT. YOU STAY WHERE YOU ARE. I LOVE YOU X**

She didn't reply, because Cosette was bouncing excitedly on the sofa and flapping her hands.

"He was really _chatty_ – too chatty – and remember he was _bragging_? He told us he lived with his friend _Claquesous_ – that's the other guy! The one that's been threatening Éponine!" Cosette burst out.

"Well, yeah, that makes sense," Musichetta said, her brow furrowing. "But what has that got to do with –?"

"He was _bragging_!" Cosette said, gesturing wildly. "He was showing off because he was flirting –"

"Yes, Cosette, _get to the point_!" Musichetta snapped. "Because Joly just text to say that Gavroche didn't ask to meet her –"

"He told us where he lived," Cosette said, grabbing Musichetta's wrist. "He lived in Gorbeau House – remember, he was trying to brag because it's in Gorbeau_Park_ and that's really posh –"

"So we know where he lives," Musichetta said, slowly.

Cosette nodded. "I can't think of anywhere else they would take her," Cosette said. "And he lives with Claquesous…"

"We should probably let the guys know," Musichetta said, grabbing her phone. She set up a group text message to all of them and fired it off, but ten minutes later there was still no message back in response.

"I suppose some of them are driving," Cosette said. "They might have already head over there…"

Musichetta chewed on her thumbnail. She snatched up her phone again. "I'm going to call them," she said, and proceeded to do just that. No one was answering. She even tried Éponine's phone, but it was to no avail.

"The lot of them are absolutely _fucking_ useless!" Musichetta said. "What is the point of having a _mobile phone_ if they're all going to ignore it? At a time like this as well!"

Cosette was busy on her own phone, fingertips skimming over the touch screen delicately but quickly. "I've found the address and I'm getting directions on Google Maps," she said in a businesslike voice. "You have a car, right?"

"Yeah," Musichetta replied, ending yet another attempted phone call to one of the boys, this time Bahorel.

"It's a ten minute drive from here," Cosette continued. "I think we should head over there."

Musichetta looked at Cosette as if she had grown another head. Cosette was still looking down at her phone but she seemed to sense that she was being watched and tilted her head up to meet Musichetta's eyes.

"Are you being serious?" Musichetta demanded.

"Very," Cosette said. "It's not like any of the men are going to help, is it?"

"Yes, but…" Musichetta closed her eyes. "This is _dangerous_, Cosette."

Cosette nodded. "Yes, I'm well aware that it's not an ideal solution, but it's ten minutes away and we could actually _help_ if we head over there –"

"Or we would be in way over our heads," Musichetta countered.

"Or we could help," Cosette shrugged. She turned her phone around to show Musichetta the map she had pulled up and the little pulsing dot that was ready to start showing them the way to Gorbeau House.

"This is mad," Musichetta said, reaching out to grab her coat.

"Maybe," Cosette said.

"Completely ridiculous," Musichetta continued, shrugging her coat on.

"Yes," Cosette agreed. "Are we going then?"

Musichetta looked at her own phone one more time and willed one of the men to ring her, but it didn't happen.

Biting her lip, she wrote out another group message.

**COSETTE AND I ARE GOING TO GORBEAU HOUSE. WE'LL SEE YOU LATER.**

OOO

Éponine almost wept with relief when the ropes binding her right hand finally came loose enough for her to pull away. The rope fell gently over her shoulder and face and she wriggled to get it off her. She rolled onto her side as much as she could and began to work on the next wrist. Her right hand and wrist were sore with the way the rope had rubbed against her skin, and she considered it a small miracle that she'd managed to get the ropes undone at all.

Unravelling the knot around her left hand was easier but still hard. Still, it took less time, even if she was almost panting with the effort it took. She thought she might be out of breath from frustration more than anything, but once she managed to undo the knot she threw the rope as far away from her as she could.

She threw herself upwards, reaching towards the knots around her ankles. With both hands free she was able to undo these even faster.

She had been concentrating so hard on doing this that she hadn't realised that anyone had entered the room until the door snapped shut.

She looked up and immediately scrambled backwards across the bed, trying to put as much distance between Claquesous and herself as she could in the seconds that she had.

The man himself didn't move an inch. He was stood leaning against the door, just watching her. He had lost weight since she had last seen him; his face looked waxy, like he didn't have enough skin to cover his bone structure and thus the skin had been forced to stretch beyond its capabilities. He wore just a white T-shirt and jeans, and his feet were bare.

"I need to brush up on my knot-tying skills," he said, coldly.

"Please, just let me go," she begged.

"So you can run straight to the police?" Claquesous cocked his head to one side. "Not that it would make a difference to me, of course. I would disappear before they could get to me. But you're incredibly naïve, Éponine, if you think you're just _walking_ out of here."

She swallowed, and edged even further backwards. Her hands touched the belt and she flinched like she'd been shot. Claquesous tittered from his position by the door, but then his expression went very serious again.

"It never had to be like this, Éponine," Claquesous said. "You just had to goad me."

"Goad you?" Éponine managed to force out. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I'm sure you never meant to – not at first," Claquesous murmured. "But being with Montparnasse…He never treated you right…"

"He treated me a hell of a lot better than you ever would," Éponine spat.

Claquesous closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"I'm going to ignore that, Éponine," Claquesous said eventually, his voice calm as he opened his eyes. "I was happy when you left him. It took me a while to find you again after that – you did a good job at covering your tracks, I'll give you that one…"

She felt her back hit the wall, and wished he would move away from the door.

"The past few weeks have been messy, I understand that," Claquesous said, his voice gentle, and he pushed off the door and stepped towards her. "Maybe I haven't handled this situation the way I should have. But in my defence, Éponine, neither have you. That game you played with Gueulemer…That wasn't nice, Éponine. That wasn't nice at all."

"You tried to kill my brother," she said.

Claquesous looked as if he was considering something, then he pulled a face and said, "Touché. I can't deny that, although it was Gueulemer who came up with the idea and offered to carry out the deed."

"Of  
course it was," Éponine sneered, anger and defiance rising up inside her. "You wouldn't want to get your hands dirty, would you?"

He didn't respond.

"Gueulemer isn't here right now," he said. "I sent him away. You might see him later – I'll see how I feel about that."

He took another step forward, but also to one side. His foot stepped on top of the heap of rags that used to form Combeferre's maroon hoodie. He used his foot to force the heap to fall apart somewhat.

"This belonged to a man," Claquesous said in a mild tone. "It was far too big for you. I didn't…Like the sight of you wearing it, Éponine."

He stepped over it to kneel on the edge of the bed. She could smell him now, the scent of cigarettes and unwashed body. Her stomach twisted and knotted.

"Do you know why, Éponine?"

"I have a few ideas," Éponine said, and her voice came out as a quiet, rasping whisper. She edged her hand sideways, groping for the belt she knew was just centimetres away. She knew it had been placed there in an attempt to scare her, and she hated just _touching_ it because she knew how it felt biting into her skin and she fucking _hated_ that belt but she was willing to do whatever she had to.

Her fingers touched the hard leather, but she kept her eyes on Claquesous, fearing that if she broke eye contact he might look down and realise what she was trying to do.

"You're mine," Claquesous said softly. "_Mine_ to do whatever I want with."

"That's – that's where you're wrong," Éponine croaked out in response, her fingers curling around the belt.

"Oh?" One of his hands reached out and he dragged a finger down her cheek. His finger was icy cold and she shuddered from the feel of it. "What makes you say that?"

"I don't belong to anyone," Éponine whispered, and she saw anger flare in Claquesous' eyes. "Least of all _you_."

The anger was burning brightly but she didn't care. She swung her arm upwards and brought the belt with it. That belt buckle – that stupid fucking _over the top_ belt buckle – cracked into his face with the most satisfying noise she'd ever head and he fell sideways, a small cry of pain escaping his mouth.

She dropped the belt and flung herself forwards, scrambling past him and over the bed. She had just thrown herself over the edge when Claquesous' hand wrapped around her ankle and she fell, throwing out her hands to catch herself before her head smacked into the floor. The rough carpet scraped against her palms, but it wasn't enough to stop her chin from knocking into the ground.

Claquesous was trying to drag her backwards so she kicked out, flipping herself over. She heard him let out a huge gust of air as her foot collided with his stomach and he loosened his grip just enough that she could scrabble away from him.

She threw herself over and scrambled into an upright position, lunging towards the door. She nearly tripped over the rags but she managed to get to the door before Claquesous could grab her. She flung it open and slammed it shut behind her. Claquesous let out a screech as some part of his body was shut in the door.

Éponine hurtled forwards at full speed, her hip colliding with a sofa and sending her spinning off, but the front door was right there.

She was _there_ she could reach out and touch it but there were arms around her waist and a nasty voice hissing in her ear. She clawed at his hands and wrists and let her whole body drop, with all her weight, to the ground. He dropped with her as he tried to keep a hold on her, and she twisted in his arms and drove her elbow into his stomach.

It was all a big mess and they were a tangle of limbs and she didn't know what she was doing but she was clawing at his face and he was letting go of her so she tried to crawl towards the door but he was grabbing her feet again and she fell, fell down hard, and then he was straddling her and putting his hands on her shoulders and throat and she lunged her head forwards and _bit_. She felt the crunch of bone beneath her teeth and he yelled and tried to wrench his arm away.

She kicked out with her legs, trying to catch him between the legs but she couldn't quite get to it and her jaw was hurting from how hard she was biting and then he punched her, right in the nose, and it was sickening and her head was spinning and something on her lower face felt wet…

And his hands were around her throat and he was squeezing and all she could do was dig her nails into his skin and listen to the things he was saying and _fuck_, she didn't know how she was getting out of this one.

OOO

"We're going the wrong way," Cosette said in a pleasant voice. Musichetta cursed loudly and glanced over her shoulder, beginning to reverse. "No, hang on, it's recalculating…Yeah, we can carry on up here…It says it's a shorter route now, so that's a bonus!"

Musichetta didn't think she'd ever felt as tempted to throttle someone as she felt now. She knew that Cosette was just trying to keep things cheerful so that they didn't freak out but it was really starting to _grate_ on her.

"This isn't looking very posh at all," Cosette commented, as rows of squat little houses flashed past their car, with the occasional unhappy looking teenager to break up the scenery.

"Yeah, well, like you said, he was trying to flirt," Musichetta murmured.

"Hmm," Cosette said, clearly unimpressed. "If you turn right up here – this one, yeah – it says we're here…"

The street they had turned onto looked just as dour as the rest they had driven through. It was a cul-de-sac, and at its end was a block of flats, taller than the other houses around it but also quite stocky. It was made from brown brick and large white letters on the front proclaimed it to be **_GO BE U H SE_**.

"Well, I think that's it," Musichetta said, looking around for somewhere to park. The cars on this street were parked onto the pavement and there didn't seem to be a lot of space but this was no time to be worrying about the proper place to park.

So she headed towards the end of the street, and parked the car as sensibly as she could manage. Cosette was out of the car the second that it drew to a halt, slamming the car door shut behind her and dropped her phone into her bag. Musichetta cut the engine and got out of the car herself. She locked the car and then slid her car keys into her pocket, before staring up at the building in front of them.

Cosette was already walking up the paved path towards the doors, her steps wide and brisk. Musichetta hurried after her.

There was some sort of intercom system by the door but when Cosette touched it the door gave way immediately with an ominous creak. It let them into a dimly lit lobby with grubby stairs and a slightly battered looking bicycle leaning against its railing. There were three doors, all of them shut, and it smelt faintly of urine and disinfectant and cigarette smoke.

The latter smell definitely came from the young scrap of a boy who was sat on the bottom step. He couldn't have been much older than twelve, but there was a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and he was eyeing the two girls with suspiciousness.

"Excuse me," Cosette said, giving the boy the brightest smile that Musichetta had ever seen. Some of the suspiciousness faded away and became something akin to awe as the young boy's eyes tracked Cosette's slim figure and settled on her rather obvious cleavage. Musichetta rolled her eyes. "I need to find someone and I'm wondering if you could help us?"

The boy flicked ash onto the step and nodded.

"I'm looking for a man named Gueulemer," Cosette said.

"Don't know him," the boy said, and took a drag on his cigarette.

"He's a big man," Cosette said, cocking her head to one side so that her light brown hair fell over one shoulder. "He has long grey hair. I think he lives with another man –"

"Yeah, I know him." The boy's eyes narrowed. "What's in it for me?"

Cosette paused and Musichetta hopped from one foot to another. Then Cosette was dipping a hand into her bag and retrieved her purse. She fished out some notes and held them out to the boy.

"That and my eternal gratitude," the woman beamed.

The boy more or less snatched the money out of her hand. "Top floor. Flat 15."

"Thank you!" Cosette sang before beginning to climb the stairs.

Musichetta followed her. It felt like the stairs were never ending, but finally they reached the top landing.

Flat 15 was the door nearest to them. Cosette approached it and reached a hand to knock the wood but then lowered it. She turned around, eyes wide.

"_Listen_," she hissed, and pressed her ear up against the door. Musichetta mimicked her action and heard what Cosette was talking about. There were thumping sounds and thuds and huffs of breath and a screech of pain that sounded like a man but then one that was very definitely _Éponine_ and Musichetta's heart pounded in her chest.

She was dimly aware of her phone ringing in her bag but she ignored it, desperately slapping her hand against the door and then kicking it for good measure. But Cosette pushed her out of the way, rooting in her bag. She paused for a few moments, staring at the lock contemplatively.

"When I was little I _had_ to learn how to pick locks," she said over her shoulder. "My mother's clients used to lock me out of the house all the time and you pick things up…It came in handy later, sometimes…"

She produced from her bag a hairpin and a paperclip and her hands were moving fast and Musichetta's heart was hammering its way out of her chest.

"You know, this is the second time I've picked a lock to help Éponine," Cosette said.

"Just try and hurry," Musichetta said, trying not to make it sound like a hiss. "Do you have a plan for what happens when we get inside?"

"Nope," Cosette said, really popping the 'p'. "You?"

"This is crazy," Musichetta said, dragging her hands through her hair.

"Yep," Cosette said, once more popping the 'p' almost so loud it sounded like a gunshot. She twisted her hand and the door opened.


	28. You're Safe

**Warning: Violence and descriptions of injuries**

**_Chapter Twenty Eight_**

**You're Safe**

"Fucking piece of absolute _shit_," Combeferre snapped, kicking the wheel of the currently unmoving car parked awkwardly over the pavement. The hood was up and Enjolras had his heads stuck beneath it, but he didn't know what he could do about it as he was fairly certain that Enjolras had no experience or knowledge of how to deal with engines.

"Combeferre, calm down," Enjolras barked from behind the cover of the car's hood. "Just try and breathe."

"I _am_ breathing," Combeferre said, dragging a hand through his hair. "I just want to know where she _is_."

As had been expected by all of them, there was no answer when they knocked on Éponine's front door, and they'd just had a message from Courfeyrac to say that she wasn't at their flat. Courfeyrac had been picked up by Bahorel, who was also travelling with Feuilly, Jehan and Grantaire, and they were heading over to the café once more to meet up with Musichetta and Cosette and hopefully Joly, Marius and Bossuet as well, who had left the park shortly after them.

Now Enjolras and Combeferre had been trying to drive to the café when the car's engine had decided to give up. Combeferre wished they had just taken his car – Enjolras' was renowned for being a piece of crap and they'd all put bets on when it would finally stop running, he just didn't understand why it had to be _today_ of all days.

"Well kicking my car isn't going to help us find her," Enjolras said, stepping away from the car and walking around it to stand beside Combeferre. He put his hand on Combeferre's arm. "It'll be all right, Combeferre. We'll sort this out."

Combeferre turned away from him. His eyes glanced into the car and he saw Enjolras' phone resting in the never-used ash tray, and the screen was alight with an incoming phone call.

"Your phone," he said, tonelessly, and Enjolras wrenched open the car door and snatched up his phone.

"Hey, Jehan – what?" Enjolras' brow knitted together. "Sorry, we've been having – _what_? Oh, for God's sake…Right, okay, just, try and keep calm about it – seriously why would he – okay, okay, _okay_, don't freak out…I'll have a look now." He ended the call and continued to stare at his phone screen, his fingertips skimming over the surface.

"What is it?" Combeferre said.

"Apparently Musichetta and Cosette know where Gueulemer and Claquesous live," Enjolras said. "They've been phoning everyone, I don't know how we've missed it – I should take my phone off silent –"

Combeferre pulled his own phone out of his pocket but the battery was long dead. But this was news, this was good –

"Bahorel got their text messages and started heading over there but he got pulled over by police for speeding and one thing led to another and Bahorel's temper got the better of him," Enjolras continued. "So they're trying to sort that out." He looked up. "The address is Gorbeau House. It's ten minutes away from here on foot, according to Google –"

"We should head over there," Combeferre said immediately.

"No," Enjolras said. "That's a stupid idea. Musichetta and Cosette have already done that and it was stupid of them as they have no idea what they're going to find – we need to think this _through_ first –"

Right then, his phone began ringing again. He sighed and answered it. "Joly, calm down," he said, instantly. "And tell Marius to stop shouting too, I can hear him from – yes, _I know_ – right, call the police and tell them the address…" He glanced at Combeferre, who personally felt like starting to run and tracking down this _Gorbeau House_. "We'll head over there ourselves – Joly, it might not be – hey, Bossuet…Yeah, I know. Make sure they don't do anything stupid…I'll see you later."

Combeferre tightened his hands into fists and watched as Enjolras slipped around the side of the car and closed the hood. Then he took his keys from where they sat on the roof and locked the door before turning to Combeferre. "We're going to go to Gorbeau House and Bossuet is going to call the police and inform them of Éponine's disappearance. Okay?"

Combeferre took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay."

Enjolras looked down at his phone and began to press the screen again. "It's this way," he said, pointing in the opposite direction they had been driving down. "Let's go."

They fell into step with each other, both of them walking with brisk, long strides. Combeferre fought the urge to start running.

OOO

Musichetta heard a yell from inside – unmistakably Éponine – and she lurched forwards before Cosette could even move out of the way. She threw her entire weight at the door, shoving it open – but it didn't get very far. It collided with something and then stopped.

Musichetta squeezed through the gap it provided into a dark, miserable little flat. She only had a few seconds to survey the scene – Éponine crouched in the middle of getting to her feet and then, oh, shit, a tall and angry looking man that had one hand braced on the door.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?" the man growled, and then he lunged at her.

Musichetta had taken a handful of self-defence classes over the years and had always liked to think she knew exactly how to protect herself in situations such as this but she realised the reality was very, _very_ different when you considered the man rushing towards her. Suddenly everything she had been taught seemed to fly out of her head but one thing remained and it was all she could think of. It occurred to her that this could go very, very wrong but she stepped towards him, thrusting out one hand with fingers outstretched. This man had clearly expected the woman to step backwards and had no time to stop before her fingers and nails collided with his face and one of his eyes.

She had it in herself to wince as the man's face crumpled in pain and staggered backwards. She had a moment of wondering what the fuck to do next as Cosette barged through the door. She had something in her hands – a bottle, a perfume bottle? And as the man was trying to recover from Musichetta's false nails stabbing into his eye Cosette sprayed him in the face. He let out a grunt and reached out with his hands, blindly grabbing fistfuls of air as if trying to take hold of Cosette, but she managed to evade him. Instead she kicked him, aiming for his knee, and his legs buckled.

There was the sound of footsteps – a pair of them – outside the flat, and the door pushed open once more. Musichetta whirled, not sure what to expect coming through the door, but she supposed she expected the other man, the big one.

But it wasn't him. It was a policeman first and then a policewoman. The man went for Cosette once more before he actually spotted the police officers, but the policeman intercepted and had the man on his knees with an arm twisted behind his back before he could get to Cosette. There was a clink of handcuffs and the man was shouting.

Musichetta fell to her knees next to Éponine, who had sank to a sitting position. Musichetta gently took hold of Éponine's arms and glanced over her face. Her eyes were red and beginning to swell and there was blood covering her lower face; her nose looked like it was possibly broken. There were red marks around her throat and her skin was already beginning to bruise in a couple of places. Her eyes were swimming with tears but there was relief in them.

"It's all right," Musichetta murmured, pulling the sleeve of her sweater over her hand and mopping at Éponine's eyes gently. Éponine winced. "Everything is all right."

OOO

Combeferre and Enjolras had been walking for about five minutes when Enjolras' phone rang.

"It's Musichetta," Enjolras said out of the corner of his mouth as he answered. "Where are – right – okay…Well my car broke down…I see. We'll just keep on walking then…See you in a minute."

Combeferre stared at his friend as he hung up. "Well?" he said, anxiously.

"They got there and broke into the flat," Enjolras said. "Éponine was there with a man – I'm assuming Claquesous – and then the police arrived. They've arrested Claquesous and they're taking Éponine to hospital. Cosette has gone with her. Musichetta's waiting at Gorbeau House to take us to the hospital."

Combeferre felt like his stomach had dropped out and he felt like vomiting. "Hospital?" he croaked.

Enjolras wrapped his hand around Combeferre's upper arm and began towing him along. "Musichetta said it's not serious," he said. "They just want to check her over. Combeferre, it's fine – she's safe."

He eventually let go of Combeferre's arm. "I'll phone Jehan and let him know what has happened," he murmured.

Combeferre half-listened to the conversation that took place between Enjolras and Jehan but he couldn't really tell what was being said so he gave up.

They arrived at Gorbeau House not long after, and found Musichetta sat in her car, arguing with someone (presumably Joly).

Enjolras climbed into the backseat after gesturing for Combeferre to sit in the front, and Musichetta abruptly ended the phone call without saying goodbye and dropped her phone into the shallow dips on the dashboard.

"Stupid man won't listen," she muttered under her breath.

"You did do a very reckless thing," Enjolras commented as he put on his seatbelt.

"It was Cosette's idea," Musichetta replied sharply.

"You should have called the police," Enjolras added.

"Yes, I realised that as soon as we got _in_ the flat," Musichetta said, and she glanced sideways at Combeferre. "You all right?"

"No," Combeferre replied, because he wasn't. "Can you tell me – I mean – how was she?"

"She was okay," Musichetta said, starting the engine and beginning to manoeuvre the car out of its awkwardly parked spot. "A few bruises and I think he might have broken her nose but she's all right. I think she was in shock more than anything – she was very quiet, although she _really_ objected to being taken to hospital. She didn't think she needed it but it was probably for the best."

The car went very quiet, save for Enjolras, who was making arrangements via phone for his broken down car to be dealt with.

They arrived at the hospital fifteen minutes later. It was not one that Combeferre had ever been to, or the one he worked at, and it took them a while to manoeuvre the car parks. The car park for visitors and patients was multi-storey and a small walk away from the actual hospital. It was packed out and they ended up on the nearly deserted top floor.

They found Cosette in the waiting room, tapping away on her phone, and her smile was pure sunshine when she saw them.

"They're just seeing to her," Cosette said. "She didn't want me to come in. I think she's annoyed at us, 'Chetta, for making her go to hospital…"

"It wasn't really _us_, I mean, the police were the ones who insisted," Musichetta said, sinking into the chair beside her.

Combeferre looked around. There were cubicles separated by curtains, but all of the ones with the curtains undrawn had either empty beds in them or they just weren't Éponine. He raked a hand through his hair.

One of the curtains pulled back and a nurse slipped out. He caught a glimpse of Éponine still partially obscured by the curtain and his feet were moving before he could even think.

Her face was bruised and her nose and eyes looked a little swollen. Her nose was visibly out of place and the droop of her shoulders gave away her tiredness.

She smiled when she saw him, and then she blinked and said, "The doctor's going to set my nose."

He didn't care about that – well, he did, but he was just happy to see her – and he stepped up to her bedside and reached out for her hand. Tangling their fingers together, he brought her hand up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

"I'm so sorry, Éponine," he murmured.

"What for?" she squeezed his hand. "It's not your fault that Claquesous…"

"We handled it all wrong," he said. "All of us. The minute we contacted Gavroche…We should have called the police. I could fucking kick myself, I don't know what any of us were thinking –"

"Yeah, I'll give you that," she said. "I'm so tired."

"We'll have you home soon," he promised. "Well – wherever you want to go – mine or yours or…"

"Yours," she said. "Please. Can we get a take away?"

"Whatever you want," he assured her, brushing hair away from her face. Looking at the bruises was making him feel angry and he tried to tamp down the rage – it was difficult, because he was feeling anger for a whole load of different things – anger at Claquesous, anger at himself, anger at _all_ of them, with a good dose of feeling absolutely stupid, but none of it was what Éponine needed and _he_ needed to remember that.

"Are Cosette and Musichetta all right?" Éponine asked. "He went for them, too – I kind of – I kind of zoned out, my head hurt –"

"They're fine…I think Musichetta's a little more shaken but Cosette's just…well, she's Cosette," he said.

"I know what they did was stupid," Éponine said, "But I've never been more grateful to see two people in my whole life."

"I wouldn't call it _stupid_," Combeferre said slowly, "It was more…misguided. They didn't think about it." He sighed.

"To sum up, my friends are absolutely terrible in a crisis," Éponine said, and she closed her eyes. "I bet none of you have had to deal with anything like that before, have you?" She cracked one eye open.

"This situation has definitely never happened to _any_ of us before," Combeferre said. He kissed her hand again. "And we're probably all hoping right now that it _won't_. Fuck, Éponine, I feel like I don't want to let you out of my sight again. Ever."

OOO

It was late by the time Éponine and Combeferre made it back to his flat. Although all of their friends wanted to see her, they'd offered to back off for the evening rather than possibly overwhelm her. Enjolras had offered to let Courfeyrac sleep on his sofa, leaving the two alone.

After Éponine's nose had been set, the police had turned up to take a statement from her about the incident. Cosette and Musichetta had already been spoken to, and the police had left Éponine on a promise to be in touch to discuss the case in more detail.

She was happy to be back in Combeferre's flat. So far she was being quite successful in suppressing any horrible memories; the events that had taken place felt like they had happened years ago instead of hours, and it was almost easy to put her mind elsewhere. Combeferre's presence was a great help in this. He was never too far away, always with a hand nearby to put at the small of her back or clasp her fingers, and aside from their conversation when they had seen each other and her dealings with the police, he hadn't touched the subject of Claquesous.

It was best, for now, that they did avoid the subject, because she knew it wouldn't be long before she was curled up in bed and either not able to sleep or desperately trying to claw herself back into consciousness as nightmares took over.

At the moment, though, Combeferre was leading her by the hand into the bathroom and putting the toilet lid down and then gently pushing her to sit on it. She had expressed a desire in the taxi (his car was still parked at the Musain; he planned on collecting it tomorrow) for a bath, and he immediately leaned over his tub and put the plug in its hole.

"I don't personally have any bubble bath," he was chattering, switching on the hot tap. "But I don't think Courfeyrac will notice if we steal some of his. He might, actually, he takes his bubble baths very seriously…"

He plucked a large, half-empty bottle of purple gel from the metal rack hanging on the wall and took of the lid. She watched as he tipped some of the gel into the bath – probably a little too much, she thought, as large clusters of foam began to form around the pouring water.

"How are you feeling now?" he said, dipping a hand into the water and swiping his arm back and forth to spread the foam around.

"Tired," she said, through a yawn. "My head hurts."

He glanced at her. "Do you still want something to eat? Like, a take away? Because we could order it now for when your bath is…"

"I don't feel very hungry," she said. "I don't think I could eat anything heavy. Maybe some toast?"

"I can do toast," he said.

They both stood in the bathroom as the bath filled with hot water. Éponine slowly took off her clothes as they waited – she was wearing Combeferre's jacket, which was the first thing to go, and then she peeled her black leggings off her legs, taking her socks with them and letting them fall in a heap to the floor. There were bruises and red marks on her legs. Combeferre stared at them with a dark look in his eyes that was probably anger, but she ignored him as she got to her feet and looked in the mirror above the sink.

She hadn't really looked at herself since leaving the hospital, and she winced at what she saw. Her face was swollen and bruised and even though her nose had been set it still didn't look right to her. There was a carpet burn on her chin as well, and her hair was the messiest she'd ever seen it.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Combeferre move and then the running water stopped abruptly. The bathroom was then filled with the sound of Combeferre's hand swishing through the water, and then the water was running all over again. Éponine looked and saw it was from the cold tap this time.

"Would you bath with me?" Éponine blurted out.

Combeferre's eyebrows were raised in surprise. "I was going to…" He shook his head. "Never mind. Sure – if that's what you want, I mean, I could…"

"Combeferre." She stepped close to him and pressed her hand, palm flat, against his stomach, higher up near his chest. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't what I wanted."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She didn't know what response she had expected from him, but it hadn't been that.

He undressed quickly and, after testing the water with his foot, turned off the cold tap and climbed over the edge to stand in the bath. Éponine tugged her baggy T-shirt over her head and he reached out to take her hands to help her into the water. She sat down first, making sure to keep towards the end of the bath with the taps for the time being until Combeferre was settled. The water surrounding her was so hot it was almost stinging and she could see her skin quickly turning red, but that was always how she'd liked her baths and the heat felt very soothing to her battered body.

Strong arms wound around her waist and gently pulled her backwards. She leaned into Combeferre's body, their hands tangling together where his rested on her stomach. A small sigh escaped her mouth.

She felt his mouth press into the back of her head; she tilted her head to give him better access, and then his lips were ghosting downwards to the nape of her neck. He held his mouth against her skin for a few moments, just breathing softly.

"I'm glad you're safe," he whispered, his lips brushing her skin, and then he moved his head away.

She closed her eyes and slid further down into the water, letting her head rest completely on his shoulder. She turned her head into his neck, and for a few moments, lost herself in the feeling of his fingers drawing patterns on her abdomen and the dream that everything was going to be okay from now on.


	29. Getting Better

**Warning: Mentions of violence, sexual assault and panic attacks**

**_Chapter Twenty Nine_**

**Getting Better**

She did dream that night – no, they weren't dreams; they were nightmares. It wasn't the nightmare she expected, however. They were the old nightmares, images from years ago, the same old hands, the same pain, the same voices and the same feeling of disgust and shame she knew she shouldn't feel.

She woke feeling like ropes were biting into the skin on her wrists, gasping and panicking and horrified that her rescue at the hands of Cosette and Musichetta and the police was the dream she'd actually been having and her nightmare was _reality_ –

But Combeferre was there, his warm, soothing voice a welcome change from the cold, biting, rasping tones of Claquesous and his cronies. _His_ hands were warm and gentle against her hips and he just held her, letting her cry into his chest.

"It's okay," he breathed into her dark hair. "I'm here."

She just gripped him harder, her sobs turning into hiccoughs, until she was silent and staring into space. His hands had moved from her waist to tangle in her hair, and she eventually fell into another somewhat restless (but thankfully dreamless) sleep, soothed by his fingers carding through her hair.

OOO

She saw Gavroche about a week after it happened. They had been in touch via phone the morning after. He was all "_If I ever wanted to see you so suddenly I'd _phone_ not text and_ _why didn't you phone _me", but then he seemed to realise how tired she was sounding and he didn't push it again.

She went to his house, on Juliette's invitation. Combeferre drove here there and promised to pick her up a couple of hours later.

Juliette hugged her as soon as she came through the door. It was a soft and yet firm hug, and Juliette smelled of flowers and lemons and soap. Éponine couldn't remember the last time she hugged someone like Juliette, and she was surprised when she pulled back and Juliette brushed her fingers underneath Éponine's chin.

"I'm glad you're okay," Juliette said, before leading her to the living room. It was painted a deep blue and there were plants everywhere, and all of their cats and dogs seemed to be snoozing on various different soft surfaces. Gavroche was on the sofa, kind of, twisting to reach the TV remote whilst also trying not to dislodge the tabby cat lying on its back on his legs. One of his arms was still bound in a cast. He looked about thirty seconds away from tipping off the sofa.

Éponine moved forward to pick up the remote from where it sat on the coffee table and handed it to him.

He muttered a thank you whilst staring at her with narrowed eyes. Behind them, Juliette said, "Would you like a cup of tea, Éponine?"

"Yes, please," Éponine said, and ushered the skinny ginger cat off the sofa and sat down in its place.

"Are you all right?" Gavroche said immediately, flopping back down into the cushions and waking up the tabby cat in the process. It meowed in a loud, screeching way that almost hurt Éponine's ears it was that irritating.

"I'm all right," Éponine said, shrugging out of her jacket. She stretched her legs out in front of her. "I swear, the bruises look worse than they actually are." That was true, but she still couldn't look at herself in the mirror without feeling like crying.

Gavroche was still staring at her, and his uninjured hand was now tangled in the fur of the tabby cat, trying to placate its agitation from being woken so abruptly. "The police have been in touch," he said, carefully.

"Yeah, I thought they might be." The ginger cat was now staring at her, crouched on the floor, a look in its bright green eyes that suggested her punishment would be swift and brutal.

"I had to give a statement," he continued.

Éponine didn't really know what to say about that, but she said instead, "I'm sorry. It's my fault you got hurt..."

Gavroche shrugged. "It's not really. It's not your fault they're, you know, assholes."

"Assholes is an understatement," Éponine sighed. "But I _am_ sorry."

"I think I understand you a bit better," Gavroche said. "You know when this happened?" He lifted his arm still bound in its cast.

She nodded. The orange cat moved into a stretch and yawned at the same time, the yawn cutting off into a squeak. It jumped onto Éponine and pushed its face into her hand, its nose damp against her palm. She stroked its head gently, and waited for Gavroche to speak.

"You were really angry," Gavroche said. "You were really angry that someone hurt me. And I didn't get it. But I think I get it – you know, now."

"Yeah?" Éponine smiled at him, and then winced as the ginger cat decided to get its revenge by biting the inside of her elbow. She gently pulled the cat away from her and dropped it onto the floor; it landed on all fours and looked slightly bewildered at being dislodged so quickly.

"Yeah," Gavroche said, looking uncomfortable.

"Well, we are brother and sister," Éponine said. "Only, you know, maybe we should leave it to the police this time. Don't do what I did."

Gavroche raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to tell me what you did?"

"No," Éponine said. "I'll never tell you that." She paused. "It might give you ideas."

At that moment, Juliette bustled in carrying two mugs of tea. "I don't know if you wanted one, Gavroche, but I made you one anyway..."

"I didn't, but okay, thanks," Gavroche said, blinking at her.

Éponine smiled at Juliette as she passed her the mug, and she leaned back into the sofa to take a sip.

OOO

Days went by.

The police had been in touch. They had questioned Claquesous, who had denied everything. But they had also managed to catch up with Gueulemer, who had shocked everyone by singing like the proverbial canary. He had wound up confessing to a lot more than just what Claquesous and he had done to Éponine, including the hit and run of Gavroche and Claquesous' involvement in drug dealing.

This was one mess Claquesous didn't seem to be able to slip his way out of, and Éponine was happy that he finally seemed to be getting what was coming to him. It eased her nerves somewhat to know that he wasn't currently on the streets – but only slightly.

The nightmares had become worse, and slowly, nightmares of Claquesous' flat were beginning to take over from the old ones. These nightmares twisted in her brain, giving them horrible, horrible, horrible endings where she wasn't saved and died alone with Claquesous and Gueulemer laughing at her. She woke from these nightmares as she woke from all the rest, either on the verge of panicking or _actually_ panicking.

In these weeks Combeferre was an absolute godsend, for lack of a better phrase. He was patient and understanding and, at her own request, barely left her side. When he did have to, she spent her time with friends. They didn't talk about what happened, and she was grateful that there were no pitying looks from anyone.

No, talking about what had happened was just for her and Combeferre, in quiet moments in bed when their limbs were tangled together and neither of them could sleep. She hadn't realised before just how much _talking_ could help, but she didn't think it would have helped as much if she was telling anyone other than Combeferre.

Although they were talking, and holding hands, and cuddling, and had practically moved in with each other, they hadn't slept together since it had happened. They hadn't really discussed it, but Éponine hadn't felt like it and Combeferre hadn't pushed it.

Things were getting better.

OOO

Almost a month had passed since the attack had happened, and it was Cosette's birthday.

Musichetta had wanted to throw a party, but Cosette had wanted something different. 'Different' turned out to be dinner at a fancy, award-winning restaurant with dishes with names Éponine couldn't begin to decipher. All of their friends were invited, and Cosette's father had arranged for them to be crammed into one of the restaurant's private rooms so they could be as loud and obnoxious as they liked.

Seeing as most of their group could be loud and obnoxious when alcohol was thrown into the mix, the decision was a good one. There was lots of wine flowing and the food (pretentious names aside) was delicious, and when they finally spilled out of the restaurant everyone was in a joyful mood.

Marius hadn't been drinking so he could drive himself and Cosette home, and the rest of the group waved off the giddy couple before discussing amongst themselves the possibility of moving on to the Corinth.

Before discussions could go very far, Éponine looked up at Combeferre and made a decision. She squeezed his hand.

"Combeferre and I are going to go home," she said.

The slightly tipsy Combeferre stared down at her in surprise. "We are?"

"Yes," she said. "We are," she said, trying to give him the most pointed look she could manage.

"Hey, I like your thinking," Musichetta sniggered, flinging her arms around Joly.

Combeferre, however, was looking down at her with interest in his eyes. "Well," he said, "We'd best go find ourselves a taxi, hadn't we?"

They bade their friends goodbye and walked, hand in hand, towards the main street, where Combeferre flagged down a taxi.

Éponine gave the driver her address, figuring Courfeyrac would possibly be bringing back somebody tonight and would be _loud_ and that could be a mood killer.

The back of the car was tense, but in the best possible way. Their hands were still linked together, resting on the seat between them, but now they were sat down they weren't just holding hands. Combeferre was playing with her hand, his fingertips brushing over her knuckles and sliding down her thumb, nails scraping gently over her palm and the inside of her wrist. Linking their fingers together, he raised her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of it, much like he had done that day in the hospital, and then slowly turned her hand around so he could see the palm. She watched him as he brushed his lips over the centre of her palm, and their eyes met.

"We don't have to," he said, the words a whisper, so soft they were barely there.

"I want to," she said.

Back at her apartment, she led him into her bedroom. There was no resistance in him whatsoever as she sank onto the bed and pulled him towards her. She reached up to press her hands against his chest and tipped her head up as he ducked down to kiss her lips.

He made a small noise at the back of his throat as she slid her hands beneath his shirt, her nails scraping over the skin of his stomach. She slipped them back out and began to unbutton his shirt, not breaking the kiss. She grinned against his mouth and finally pulled away, flopping back on the bed as his shirt fell open. He crawled over her, bracing his arms on either side of her as she looped her arms around his neck and pulled his head back down to meet hers.

She didn't realise just how much she had missed _this_; although they had been enjoying intimacy that was a lot deeper in some ways through their whispered conversations and cuddles, she had been needing _this_ too and she wasn't sure she'd even realised. Now, with alcohol flowing through her veins and heat from Combeferre's hands and kisses warming her blood, she wondered why she'd been avoiding it for so long.

It was slow and languid, almost lazy, as they reacquainted themselves with each other's bodies. Afterwards, Éponine felt more content than she could ever remember feeling before, happy lying in the circle of Combeferre's arms and listening to the thud of his heart beneath her ear.

She thought to herself, as her eyes closed and her mind began to drift, that this just might be the first night in a while that she'd have happy dreams. And that thought at the forefront of her mind, she pressed her face further into his shoulder and murmured, "I love you."

With a yawn, she finally succumbed to sleep.

OOO

Combeferre's entire body went tense and for a moment, his grip on Éponine tightened considerably. Then he loosened grip as something twisted and knotted in his stomach in a fashion that made him feel slightly sick.

Her head dropped a little against his shoulder, and a couple of minutes later he heard the softest snore.

As carefully as he could, he untangled his limbs from Éponine's and eased himself out of the bed. Thankfully she didn't stir, her body going slack against the mattress and her head being pillowed by the back of her hand. He takes the time to pull the duvet up around her, tucking it around her neck and shoulders and, because he can't stop himself, he dropped a kiss onto the temple that was exposed to him.

He paused to pull on his boxers and dug out a T-shirt that he couldn't remember stashing in one of Éponine's drawers. He dragged it on over his head before fishing his phone out of the pocket of his jeans.

Éponine's keys were left on the kitchen side so he took them with him, just to be on the safe side, ducking out of her apartment and sitting on the second landing in the stairwell.

He scrolled through his contacts until he found his ICE number and pressed call.

Enjolras answered on the sixth ring, and his voice was husky and deep from sleep. Combeferre wondered for a few moments just how long it had taken Enjolras to abandon the group and go home after he and Éponine had left.

"Combeferre, this had better be good," Enjolras said, or more growled. Combeferre winced, remembering too late just how dangerous it could be to wake up Enjolras at the wrong time. "If it isn't, I'm coming over to Éponine's and seriously _hurting_ you and she won't be able to stop me."

"Éponine said she loved me," Combeferre said, bluntly.

There was a few moments of silence, before Enjolras said, "Isn't this more Courfeyrac's area?"

"Are you kidding me right now? All he'd do is tease and – Enjolras, seriously, I don't know what to _do_," Combeferre said, raking his hand through his hair.

"I don't really know what you want me to say," Enjolras said. Some of the grumpiness was seeping out of his tone, little bit by little bit. "Is this a bad thing? To you? Because most people would be _happy_, Combeferre..."

"It's not – it's not a _bad_ thing, it's just – I mean, I am happy – kind of – but..." He breathed deeply. "I don't – I don't know if she _means_ it."

"Right," Enjolras said, dragging the word out. "I _think_ I know where you're coming from." There was another pause, before he said, "Except I really don't. Explain."

"She used to say she loved Marius," Combeferre said. "All the time. And he used to say it back which is, you know, completely ridiculous because we all know he never did, and I don't think she loved _him_ either but they both used to throw it around all the time in front of us and..."

"You're worried that she's seeing you as...another...another Marius," Enjolras surmised.

"Kind of," Combeferre muttered, and he hated himself for it. He felt _so_ stupid, sat in a draughty stairwell in his boxers and an old, ratty T-shirt, his feet turning into blocks of ice, phoning his oldest friend who had never been in a relationship of any type, long term or short and casual. Right now, Enjolras was probably using his laptop to send a Facebook message to Courfeyrac or Jehan to tell them to get in touch and give him some advice, so Combeferre didn't know why he'd even phoned him in the first place, except he really needed to talk.

But now he'd put it all out there he felt like the world's biggest arsehole because he was probably reading too much into it and who was he to say if Éponine loved him or not?

He just hated the idea that their relationship was _anything_ like hers and Marius' – it made him sick beyond belief and it had always irritated him to hear them saying they loved each other – and he'd always privately thought Marius had only been interested in Éponine because he thought he could _save her_ or something noble like that only Combeferre didn't want to _save her_, he wanted to...He wanted to help her as she helped herself and be there for her and _fuck_, he wasn't like Marius.

" – Combeferre? Combeferre, are you all right?"

He realised that Enjolras had been speaking to him as he almost panicked. He let out a long breath. "I'm fine. I was just...I was just thinking. Look, you're not – you're not going to tell anyone else, are you?"

"No," Enjolras said. "Do you want me to?"

"Of course I don't," Combeferre said. "They'd only fuss, and I don't want fuss, I just...I just want..."

"I don't think I'm the right person to deal with this," Enjolras admitted. "But, overall, I think it's – it's probably not as bad as you think it is. I mean, you're not like Marius."

Combeferre nodded, even though Enjolras obviously couldn't see him, and waited for his friend to continue.

"The only common factor here is Éponine, and Éponine doesn't act around you like she used to act around Marius," Enjolras carried on. "She used to – well, she used to fawn over him, for lack of a better word. She seems comfortable with you, very at ease, and she tells you things and talks to you and she relies on you a lot. And I'm no expert..." He paused, and snorted. "Like, I'm really no expert, I seriously don't know why you called me –"

"Enjolras," Combeferre bit out.

"All right, all right – so I'm no expert, but sometimes, the way she looks at you – it's kind of how you look at her. Or how Musichetta looks at Joly, or vice-versa, or Cosette and Marius...You know, like she does love you, I suppose. Or care for you. It's a lot better than the way she used to stare at Marius."

Combeferre groaned and pressed his forehead against his arm. "I'm overreacting, aren't I?"

"Possibly." Combeferre heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and he thought they were coming from above. "But it's understandable. You might have more relationship experience than me, I'm not arguing that, but you're still not as used to them as –"

"Combeferre?" Éponine's voice was sleepy and confused behind him.

"I'll speak to you tomorrow, Enjolras," Combeferre muttered. "And thank you."

He ended the call and stood up, turning to see Éponine stood there. She wore his shirt over pyjama pants and had a black cardigan over the top, and her arms were wrapped around herself. One eyebrow was raised in puzzlement.

"I woke up and you weren't there. Have you got my keys?" she said, stifling a yawn.

Combeferre jangled them at her. "Of course. Sorry, I was just..."

She smiled at him. "Is everything all right?" she asked, her tone tinged with concern.

"Yeah," he said, on a huff of breath. "Yeah, everything is fine."


	30. Issues

**_Chapter Thirty_**

**Issues**

Éponine slowly walked back to her apartment, knowing that Combeferre was right behind her. Her mind was moving at a million miles an hour; she must have only been asleep for a few minutes before she woke and found him gone, and there had been a brief moment of absolute panic as her mind processed the fact she was alone.

She'd thrown on his shirt and rushed into the living room – but he wasn't there either and neither were her keys, so she put on more clothes and ventured out of the flat, finding him sat in the stairwell on his phone.

Her mind was milling over the fact he had left – what could have made him left? He was on the phone to Enjolras (she'd heard him say so) but he'd _thanked _Enjolras so he must have phoned _him_ and not vice versa and what could have been so urgent he left the bed not long after sex to _make_ the phone call?

Once they were back inside her apartment, Combeferre made a beeline for her bedroom, walking past her when she began to slow down. She took the time to lock the flat up again before following him through to the bedroom, where she found him cross-legged on the bed.

"What's up?" she asked, shrugging off her cardigan and letting it drop onto the floor.

"Nothing's wrong," Combeferre said.

"It's late and you made a phone call to Enjolras," Éponine said. "Or, he phoned you. Either way, _something_ must be wrong."

"I just – we just had to talk about something," Combeferre said with a shrug, as she climbed onto the bed to kneel beside him. "It's nothing – just me – overreacting, I guess. I was being silly."

He wasn't looking at her, but was rather determinedly staring at the wall opposite.

"Silly about what?" she prompted, nudging his shoulder with hers. He turned to face her, and he was almost squirming from discomfort at the situation.

"I don't want you to be angry at me," he said, quiet and worried.

"Why would I be angry at you?" she said. Her confusion was obvious to her own ears.

"You – um – you kind of freaked me out when you said – you know – you said you loved me." The end of Combeferre's sentence was rushed, almost as if he hadn't intended to blurt it out.

Éponine didn't say anything, running what he had said over her mind again and again. "Right," she said. "Well. I think – I think we can work around that? I mean, it's not – it's not a terrible thing..."

She trailed off, her stomach twisting. No, it wasn't a terrible thing for him to not feel the same way. But it also felt like a kick in the stomach. She wasn't sure that she'd ever felt this embarrassed – oh, _fuck_, it was just like Marius all over again – her misreading the situation and thinking it was a way more serious relationship than it actually was. She should have _known_, should have learned by her own example, her own _mistakes_, and fucking _thought_ before she opened her mouth.

"Éponine, it's not – it's not because I don't feel the same way," Combeferre's voice cut through her fast-running thoughts. She looked up from where she was staring down at her hands to meet his eyes. His eyes were honest and sincere and she actually believed him – or she wanted to. But some embarrassment still remained, lingering in her chest and her stomach.

So she didn't speak, and waited for him to continue. When he didn't, and a few minutes had slid past with them just staring at each other, she cocked her head to one side and said, "What is it, then?"

He sucked in a deep breath and winced. "I just – I wasn't _sure_ if – well..."

"Spit it out," she snapped, losing patience completely. She just wanted to go back to sleep and put this whole sorry episode behind her.

"You used to tell Marius you loved him," Combeferre blurted, then winced again.

"What's that got to do with you?" Éponine demanded, sliding backwards on the bed a couple of millimetres. The twisting in her stomach worsened until she genuinely felt sick.

"Well – you didn't – you didn't love him," Combeferre said. The words were quiet, but he might as well have shouted them for she heard them loud and clear.

"I did," she protested.

His eyebrows flicked upwards in disbelief.

"I _did_," she insisted. "In a way. Not – I know now I didn't love him like _that_, but I _care_ for him. I still don't see what this has to do with _me and you_, though, Combeferre –"

"I don't want to have the sort of relationship you had with Marius," he interrupted her. There was a touch of exasperation to his voice that had her hackles rising – she wasn't stupid, he just wasn't listening. But then he was carrying on, and she had the urge to start throttling something. "With your issues, he wanted to fix you and I –"

"My _issues_," she echoed, cold and distant and chewing on her lower lip until it felt raw.

The colour seemed to flood out of Combeferre's face very quickly. "Éponine –" he began, but she shook her head.

"No, I think I understand it," she said, moving even further away from him. "You don't want to deal with my _issues_, is that it?"

"Éponine, _no_, I never said that," Combeferre said, sharply. He turned on the bed so he was facing her. "That's a hell of a jump to _make_, Éponine, I just meant that –"

"You know what? I don't want to hear it," Éponine said, closing her eyes. She knew that her voice sounded a little tremulous, so she flopped down onto the bed and buried her face into her pillow. "Can you switch off the light?" she forced out, her voice muffled.

"Éponine..." Combeferre's hand curved over her shoulder and squeezed gently. She shrugged off.

"The light," she bit out.

"Éponine, please just let me explain," Combeferre said.

"Combeferre, if you don't switch off that light and shut the fuck up I am going to get up and shove the lamp up your arse," she said, raising her head off the pillow and opening her eyes. She twisted her neck to look at him over her shoulder. "I mean it," she added fiercely for good measure.

Combeferre took off his glasses and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Éponine, I didn't –"

"Good night," she said, pressing her face back into the pillow.

There were a few more moments of silence and then she heard a clicking sound; she opened her eyes and was met by darkness. She let them close again and listened to the sounds of the bed sheets rustling as Combeferre arranged them around himself and then pulled them up over her.

The last thing she heard from him was a small sigh, and then the room became silent but filled with tension from the argument that had just occurred.

OOO

"Is it even _legal_ to be awake at this hour? God, I hate you sometimes, Éponine," Grantaire grumbled under his breath as he let her into his apartment. There were heavy bags under his eyes and his hair was sticking up in every direction, and he wore a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else.

Éponine rolled her eyes and gave him the most unimpressed look she could muster.

"It's four in the afternoon," she said.

Grantaire slammed the door shut and glanced towards the clock on the wall. "So it is," he murmured under his breath, and then dragged a hand through his hair. "Well, fuck."

"And I've been desperate to talk to _someone_ all day," Éponine added, kicking off her shoes and flopping down onto his sofa.

"Why? What's up?"

She lay down completely flat on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. She could hear him moving about in his kitchen, opening his fridge and clanking pots around.

"I had an argument with Combeferre," she said, wincing at the very memory. "Well. He said something that upset me – that I might have taken the wrong way – but I blew up and then this morning he just left and we never talked about it and he's not answering my texts so I think I'm in the doghouse? But I'm still angry at him myself so a part of me doesn't really give a shit but..."

A bottle of cider suddenly hung over the back of the sofa, clasped in Grantaire's hand. There was no cap on it. It was flavoured cider – strawberry and lime – and she snatched it out of his hand and sat up to take a gulp.

"What were you arguing about?" Grantaire asked, beer can in hand, as he was dropping down onto the other end of the sofa and on top of her legs. She spluttered, wanting to let out an indignant yell but also not wanting to spit her cider everywhere.

"I might have told him I loved him," she said, dragging her legs out from underneath Grantaire.

He paused in the middle of raising the beer can to his lips and stared at her. He kept on staring so she decided to begin picking at the label on the bottle of cider in her hand, fingers slipping on the condensation covering the glass surface.

"Right," Grantaire said, stretching out the word. He lowered the can so it rested on his knee. "Let me get this straight. You said you loved him, and then you argued? Why?"

"He freaked out," Éponine said. "Because I used to say I loved Marius and he thought I didn't love Marius so that equates to him not wanting me to say I love him, I suppose. And then he said he didn't want to have the same relationship as Marius and I had, because I had issues and he didn't want to fix them."

Grantaire drummed his fingers on the side of his can. "Well," he said. "That's not necessarily a negative. Did you give him a chance to explain?"

"What do you think?" Éponine said, gloomily.

"I appreciate where you're coming from," Grantaire said, with a small shrug. "I do. Kind of. But it must make a change for him to _not_ want to fix your problems? Not wanting to _fix them_ is different to not wanting to deal with them."

Éponine took another gulp of cider and didn't respond.

"I mean, there are some guys out there who would probably hear about your problems and think they could save you or some shit through the power of love," Grantaire rambled on. "God knows, I've experienced that myself – but we both know that Combeferre's dick isn't going to magically solve all your problems overnight and neither is Marius' or any other guy's. It'd be one hell of a world to live in if someone's cock had that power."

Éponine snorted.

"The difference here is I don't think Combeferre ever thought he could save you or that he wanted to – he just wanted to help you help yourself. Haven't the past few weeks shown that?" Grantaire finally took a long swig from the can in his hands.

"That's – that's just not what it sounded like," Éponine muttered.

"Only because you didn't give him a chance to explain," Grantaire said, pulling a face.

"I just – I should never have said I love him." Éponine let go of her bottle so it was cradled between her thighs and buried her face into her hands.

"Hey." The sofa shifted beneath them both as Grantaire leaned forwards to put his beer can on the floor, and then his hands brushed over her head. "Don't think like that. Do you love him?"

"I don't know," Éponine whined, her throat aching. "I don't _know_. Yes. Yes, I think I do. But – gah – I don't _know_, Grantaire."

"Right." His hands curled around her wrists and pulled her hands away from her face. He tilted her chin upwards. "Do you know what me and you are going to do?"

She stuck out her lower lip and didn't reply.

"We're going to get stupidly drunk," he said. He paused. "Again."

"That sounds like a plan," Éponine sighed, and brought the bottle up to her lips once more.

OOO

Combeferre had spent the day moping around in his flat after leaving Éponine's, which had immediately drawn the attention of Courfeyrac.

So naturally, Courfeyrac had never been far away for the entire day – he was hovering and trying to make him laugh and generally being a nuisance, but Combeferre was finding it hard to care.

Éponine had been sending him texts but he wasn't reading them. Not that he hadn't come close, of course; he had, but every time he went to open them he reminded himself he was annoyed at her because she wasn't letting him explain and he threw the phone as far away from him as he could get it.

Finally, at around half-past four, Combeferre decided to take a shower to distract himself. It didn't work, because it was the first shower he'd had in ages that wasn't with Éponine. So he ended up rushing through his shower and he wasn't sure he'd washed all of the conditioner out of his hair. He was finding it hard to care, though. He found it even harder to care when he pulled back the shower curtain and found Courfeyrac perched on the toilet, cross-legged and almost resembling some sort of mischievous pixie from a fairy tale.

"Courfeyrac!" he shouted, dragging the curtain back across.

At the same time, Courfeyrac said, "What's up?"

"You can't just come in here whilst I'm having a _shower_," Combeferre barked.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before, I've known you since we were like six or something," Courfeyrac scoffed. "And don't flatter yourself, I don't particularly want to see you naked –"

"Just pass me a towel, please."

A second later, Courfeyrac's hand stuck around the shower curtain with Combeferre's steel grey towel in his hand. Combeferre snatched it off him and wrapped it around his waist before pulling the curtain back. Carefully, he climbed out of the bath and knotted the towel at his hip, before planting his hands on his waist and glaring at his friend.

Courfeyrac didn't look bothered. "I just wanted to talk," he said with a shrug.

"_Boundaries_, Courfeyrac. Do you even know what they are?"

"Yeah," Courfeyrac said, slowly. "So, what's wrong?"

"No, I'm still on the fact you just let yourself into the bathroom _whilst I was showering_," Combeferre said, grabbing his smaller towel from where it was hung over the radiator to start drying his hair.

"It's really not that big a deal," Courfeyrac said. "You're welcome to come and sit in here whilst I'm showering. Also, this officially means you have a bigger stick up your arse than Enjolras because _he_ lets me sit and talk to him whilst he showers."

Combeferre paused for a few moments to process that information. "Seriously? Enjolras?"

Courfeyrac nodded solemnly.

Letting out a sigh, Combeferre resumed drying his hair. "Well, that's – that's Enjolras. Who knows what's going on in his head sometimes."

"True, but we're not here to discuss Enjolras," Courfeyrac said, rubbing his hands on his lap. "What's up? You've been in a foul mood all day, and I want to know why."

"I don't want to talk about it," Combeferre replied, pulling the towel away from his head.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. "Great. Very helpful, Combeferre."

"I'm under no requirement to tell you anything," Combeferre snapped.

"All right, all right!" Courfeyrac held his hands up, palms outwards. "Fine. But will you at least allow me to try and cheer you up?"

Combeferre balled the towel up in his hands. "Like what?"

"Jehan text me," Courfeyrac explained. "The Musain's doing a cocktail night." He waggled his eyebrows. "Even _Enjolras_ is up for going. You know how much he likes a Slippery Nipple."

Combeferre sighed. "Do I have a choice?"

"No," Courfeyrac sang. "I'd drag you there kicking and screaming if I had to. We're meeting everyone there at seven. There's a ninety percent chance we'll be going to Corinth afterwards but I'll be nice and make that optional for you."

"How kind of you," Combeferre said dryly. "Now can you get out of the bathroom? I want to brush my teeth."

Courfeyrac pouted, but traipsed out of the bathroom all the same.

OOO

"So." Grantaire dragged out that one syllable for a very long time and then smacked his lips together. "So. Jehan actually text me a couple of hours ago."

"What about?" Éponine mumbled, one of her hands resting over her eyes.

"Cocktail night at the Musain," Grantaire said, flicking through his phone. "We're meeting at seven. If you want to go, that is."

Éponine rolled onto her stomach and nearly fell off the sofa. "Who is going?"

"Everyone, apparently." Grantaire carefully placed his phone onto the coffee table and tapped it three times on the screen before folding his arms over his chest. "That would...Probably include Combeferre. How do you feel about that?"

"Terrific," Éponine muttered, using her shaking arms to prop herself up into a sitting position. "Will there be alcohol?"

Grantaire raised his eyebrows, his mouth pursing in amusement. "It's a _cocktail night_."

"Since when does the Musain do cocktail nights?" Éponine wondered.

"Since tonight?" Grantaire shrugged and stretched his arms above his head. "Does it matter? There's alcohol. Do you want to go?"

"Ugh." Éponine wrinkled her nose. "_Combeferre_ is there."

"Yes, and you can have mad drunk sex with each other," Grantaire said. "Please say we can go. Don't deprive me of a chance to see Enjolras drinking cocktails. It's the only time he actually considers drinking."

"Fine," Éponine huffed, mind focusing on mad drunk sex with Combeferre. She waved a hand at Grantaire. "Go and shower."

Grantaire groaned and rolled off the sofa, lying in a heap on the floor for a few moments before crawling over to the bathroom. "I can't be bothered," he muttered under his breath before nudging the door shut behind him with his foot.

Sighing under her breath, Éponine flopped back onto the sofa.

OOO

The promise of cocktails had apparently drawn in a larger crowd than would usually be there on a Saturday evening, and when Éponine and Grantaire walked in they actually for once had a hard time seeing their friends through the crowds of people.

"I feel so underdressed," Éponine whispered, blinking rapidly.

Grantaire nudged her with his elbow. "You look fine," he said, and she knew it was a lie so she punched him on the shoulder. She might have punched him a little too hard as he went sideways and knocked into a group of girls.

"Sorry, sorry, my friends a bit – you know – she's had one too many," he said, straightening up. "Jeez, Éponine," he added in a hiss under his voice, snagging her wrist in his hand. "Come on – Jehan's over there."

Their friend was talking to a man with a shock of purple hair and a bar through his septum. In Jehan's hand was a drink that drifted from pale yellow to orange to pink, a paper umbrella bobbing on top.

"Hey," Grantaire said.

"You made it!" Jehan turned his back slightly on the purple-haired man. "You remember we said seven, right?"

"Yeah, I know we're a couple of hours late but you know what they say – better late than never, right?" Grantaire grinned at him and clapped him on the shoulder. "Where is everyone else?"

"Usual spot," Jehan. "Oh, and Joly invited some of his friends from uni, so they're over there, too. Are you all right, Éponine?"

He was watching her very intently and she shook her head and nodded at once. "I'm fine," she insisted.

"We were drinking at mine," Grantaire explained. "Come on, Éponine, let's get some drinks. See you in a bit, Jehan."

At the counter they ordered drinks – she ordered a sex on the beach and Grantaire ignored the cocktails altogether and went for a beer, and then they began to wend their way over to the sofas in the corner.

Sure enough, there were more people sat there, and Éponine recognised a handful from Joly's party. There was a jolt in her stomach when she clocked the girl sat next to Combeferre – it was _that girl_ from Joly's party – the one who wore pink cow print – the one who _asked him out_. She was sat next to him, and their thighs were pressed together, and at the moment her head was tipped back as she laughed at a joke someone else had made.

She wrinkled her nose and knocked back her drink, pleased at how easily it went down.

Three more glasses of sex on the beach later, and the world was hazy and nothing made sense. She'd migrated from the sofa to stand by the counter with Grantaire and they were doing shots with Bahorel.

She threw back the shot that was put in front of her, watching Combeferre out of the corner of her eye. Apart from saying hello to her when she arrived, Combeferre had only exchanged awkward glances with her and they hadn't spoken. He was still sat next to that girl, though.

It was funny – no, not funny, _horrible_, because that girl looked so _right_ sat next to Combeferre. She looked happy and she was smiling and she had been nursing the same drink all night, being sensible of course, and Combeferre was the same, and she kept on laughing at everything he said.

Grantaire waved a shot glass in her face. "Éponine," he sang. "Take it!"

She took the shot glass from him. It was a flimsy plastic one and it buckled slightly beneath her fingertips. "Look at her," she muttered against the rim of the plastic cup.

"Who? There's lots of hers," Grantaire said. "Oh, you mean the one with Combeferre?"

"I don't like her," Éponine scowled.

"She probably doesn't like you either," Grantaire said. "Drink up!"

Éponine tipped the shot glass back and tasted the sour alcohol sliding over her tongue. She turned her gaze fully upon Combeferre in time to see the girl reaching out and placing her hand over his knee and leaning in towards him. She swallowed the alcohol and let the shot glass drop onto the counter. The very light plastic bounced across the surface and rolled off the other side.

He wasn't moving away from her. They were leaning in close and the girl was walking to him, the hand that wasn't touching his leg gesturing wildly in the air. For a few brief seconds, Combeferre looked past the girl and looked at Éponine. Their eyes met.

Then he looked away, back down at the girl, and she saw his hand cover the girl's and she saw red and green all at once.

Later, she would blame it on the copious amounts of alcohol running through her system and combining with anger and jealousy and a desperate need to make Combeferre feel as shitty as she did right now.

She turned around, and placed her hands on either side of Grantaire's face, pulling his head down to meet hers. Their mouths collided with such force that their teeth knocked together and it was a clumsy, sloppy kiss that was terrible and tasted like hundreds of different flavours of alcohol all at once. It was probably on the list of Éponine's worst kisses, mainly because it was completely one sided and she was more or less just slobbering all over Grantaire's face.

He pushed her away. She knocked into the person behind her – Bahorel, was it?

"Éponine, what are you doing?" Grantaire gaped. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you?" she said. To her own ears her voice sounded commanding and clear, but in reality it was more of a sluggish mumble that belied how much she'd had to drink. Her feet were still moving of their own accord, sending her stumbling into the side of the bar.

Grantaire wiped a hand over the back of his mouth. "You're drunk," he accused.

"Maybe I am," she spat. "What's it to you? What's it to any of you?" She flung an arm out to gesture to the entirety of the café, as if any of them actually cared about what she was doing.

Combeferre certainly did, because he was looking angry and getting to his feet. She met his gaze once more in a challenging way and was almost disappointed when he was intercepted by Enjolras, who had been sat on the sofa opposite them.

The taller blond man placed his hands on Combeferre's shoulders and forced him back down onto the sofa. Through the haze in Éponine's brain she registered the fact that the girl had disappeared.

Grantaire put his hand on the crook of her elbow. "Éponine –" She shoved him off, swearing loudly.

"Get off me," she said. "I'm fine." She stumbled backwards, into Bahorel again. He put his hands on her hips to right her.

Enjolras was walking across the café towards her, shrugging on his jacket. His car keys were jangling away in his hand.

He stopped in front of her. "Éponine?" he said, adjusting the collar. "I think you need to go home. I can drive you."

"You need to go home," she muttered petulantly.

"All right," Enjolras agreed. "We can go together."

"Together? I'm not sleeping with you." Éponine snorted and glanced to Grantaire, hoping he would be as amused by Enjolras as she was. Grantaire's face was very serious, though.

Enjolras' eyes closed briefly. "That's fine," he said. "Éponine, can you walk? Or do I need to help you?"

"I can walk," she muttered.

"Right." Enjolras put a hand near the small of her back and guided her away from the counter. "Come on..."

Over his shoulder, he said, "I'll text you to let you know how she is." She wasn't sure who he was saying that to but she didn't really care because her feet weren't working properly and she was staggering.

"Hey, okay," Enjolras said in a soothing voice, and his arm wound around her waist. "You need help?"

"No," she said, and nearly fell again.

"Éponine, I'm going to keep my arm around your waist," Enjolras said, his voice calm. "Is that all right with you? If you're not comfortable with it..."

"I can walk," she said, but she leaned into him and put her arm around his waist too. "I think..."

"See, you're doing just fine," Enjolras said. "My car's just outside, and then you can go home."

"What – what about Combeferre?" She tried twisting, but Enjolras held on fast, keeping her focused on the direction of the café's exit.

"He's fine," Enjolras said. "He's getting a taxi back with Courfeyrac. Don't worry about him, Éponine."

"I'm so stupid," she muttered. "Aren't I?"

"Not at all," Enjolras said, and she could almost believe him when he said it.


End file.
